Time to Heal
by owlofathena
Summary: MM HG romance. Injured during a Death Eater attack, Minerva is forced to remain in bed for a week. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Characters, situations, and background belongs to J. K. Rowling._

_Authors Note: Like my other story, this plot will be centered around the MM/HG relationship. Don't read if this bothers you (although from what I've seen, the crowd seems to be pretty open minded!). Hermione is about twenty one in this story._

_Background: After years of searching, all of the horcruxes have been found and destroyed. Voldemort has gone into hiding, possibly he knows that they have found his secret. The Death Eater factions have split up, some following their leader while the majority remain in Britain, distracting the Order from hunting down the Dark Lord. Harry and Ron are searching Europe alone while the rest of the Order is protecting Britain from the scattered Dark Forces_.

* * *

A heavy mist had descended upon the green meadow only a few minutes before. Moonlight softly illuminated the pale shroud, giving it an ghostly character that might have been considered beautiful on any other occasion. It was only the still smoldering house, half of which had been demolished in the first explosion, that gave any indication that a deadly battle had been fought on the grounds just minutes before. Scattered in and beside the burning building were several bodies, face down, their immobile limbs twisted into contorted positions.

Warm blood ran down her arm, seeping through the heavy fabric of her robes and dripping onto the dew-tipped grass. Her attacker hadn't achieved his goal of slicing her arm off, but had managed to do great deal of damage despite her shielding charm. Parting the leaves of the bush with her good hand, Minerva McGonagall squinted out over the lawn through the broken lenses of her glasses, her severely blurred vision further impaired by the white spots and flashes that danced to the beat of her rapid pulse. The Anti-Disapparation Jinx had been a shock; few wizards or witches had the magical skill to conjure up such a barricade. Attempting to travel through it had been akin to flying headlong into a brick wall at full speed on a rogue broomstick.

With no way to escape, her only chance of living was to fight her way out. She needed her wand. And there was only one way to find it.

With a faint pop and soundless prayer to any gods that might be listening, she transformed into her animagi shape; her vision only slightly improved. After one last glance around, she darted out of the cover of the foliage and ran across the lawn towards the woods as fast as her body would let her, movement severely hampered by her still bleeding foreleg.

Minerva had come within twelve strides of the cover of the trees when she heard it.

'_Petrifictus Totalus!'_

The spell hit her mid-bound, tripping her up and somersaulting her limp body into the damp grass. A sharp stab of pain filled her chest to bursting point, wrenching a feline cry from her throat.

Accompanied by his footsteps, Rodolfus Lestrange's voice came up from behind her, slower, but just as mocking as his wife's.

'Ah, Minerva McGonagall. I thought I'd seen you earlier. Running away? Not a very Gryffindor-like trait, is it…'

Another whispered incantation and extreme pressure began to fill her skull, forcing her to change back to her human self.

'You seem to have lost your wand. Such a shame, now you'll have no way of…'

'_Petrifictus Totalus!' _

For the second time that night, the words for the Body Bind curse echoed across the field. Abruptly, Lestrange's voice was cut off and replaced by the muffled thud of a heavy body hitting the lawn. It was quickly followed by the sound of someone running towards her.

'Minerva!'

A wave of relief washed over her like a flood as Hermione Granger's voice rang out from the depths of the mist. Mere seconds later, Minerva felt the petrification spell lift and she pushed herself to her knees to face her former student. Jagged, hot pain shot through her chest as she rose, causing her to stumble slightly upon standing.

A murmured enchantment by the young woman and Minerva's vision was suddenly restored to its usual clarity, glasses repaired. She let out a sharp gasp of shock when she looked up. Hermione had a deep cut on her left temple – bleeding profusely – and her robes had been ripped clean off her right shoulder, revealing a bruising mess of a wound that reached more than a hand's span across at the widest point.

'Oh Hermione…your shoulder.'

'It's not as bad as it looks…here…'

Minerva's curly haired rescuer drew a familiar wand from a pocket in her less than complete robes and handed it to the dark haired witch.

'…you've probably been looking for this. I picked it up when that red-haired Death-Eater… '

She was interrupted mid-sentence by a lance of red light that shot out of the bushes behind them, narrowly missing her left ear. Ducking down low, Hermione grabbed Minerva's good arm and half-dragged her to the cover of the nearby woods. Tripping and stumbling over roots and bracken, they ran as fast as they were able to through the mist-shrouded trees. After two minutes of sprinting, an exhausted Minerva felt the boundary of the Anti-Disapparation charm pass. She gripped Hermione's wrist firmly and willed them both to travel to the only safe place that she knew of.

* * *

'Please stop moving. I need to clean your arm and I can't do it if...'

'What if they didn't get away?'

Minerva's voice was barely above a whisper. They were sitting in the kitchen of her house in Northern Scotland, washing away the remains of newly healed injuries. Hermione's shoulder and face wounds had already been mended and new clothes had been found for her out of her host's closet. Minerva was still wearing the thin top that she had worn under her original, now ruined robes; her chest injury had prevented her from raising her arms to remove it.

Hermione wrung out the cloth that she had been soaking and began to gently sponge away dried blood from the skin surrounding the newly formed scar on Minerva's arm.

'I saw them apparate. The explosion scattered us. Jones was the only one who was hit with the Killing Curse. Everyone else followed your instructions and fled.'

The older woman stared out the window towards the distant, cloud-wreathed mountains, lost in thought.

'She arrived at Hogwarts the same year I began teaching. I've never seen a student so excited at the prospect of learning magic…excelled in charms and potions…never very good at Transfiguration but she tried harder than anyone else in her year…she was overjoyed when Albus asked her to join the Order…I should have…'

Minerva's voice caught and died off and she lifted her right hand up to her temple, blocking her eyes from view. Dropping the wash-cloth back into the basin, Hermione crouched down next to the chair and grabbed the woman's face with both hands, forcing her to look up. Her former teacher's eyes were red with unshed tears and her lower lip was trembling uncontrollably.

'This was not your fault.'

She spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. Shutting her eyes, Minerva slowly slipped out of the chair she had been sitting in and covered her face with her hands again, knees tucked to her chest. Her body shook with each silent sob. Hermione sat down next to her and gently stroked her back while whispering soothing words.

Comforting was all she could do.

* * *

Minerva winced as Hermione eased the blouse over one arm, quietly maneuvering her elbow out of the sleeve. The younger woman frowned as soon as the bruised skin of the older woman's ribcage became visible and bent down for a closer inspection, lightly pressing on several sub dermal points of bone. After a moments examination, Hermione stood up again, face grim.

'Two ribs fractured. It's a wonder that you were able to run away, let alone breathe properly. One more break and you would have had a flail chest.'

Still frowning, she pulled a small vial filled with an pale blue liquid out of the pocket of her sweater and handed it to the other woman.

'Drink half. It'll allow you to sleep comfortably for ten hours. I daren't go messing around with internal injuries so we'll have to let this one heal naturally.'

'How long?'

'Seven, maybe ten days in bed.'

The dark haired woman pulled on her silk nightgown with a vicious tug.

'I'll be sure to thank Lestrange for the vacation when I see him next – several hundred years as a toad should be just about right.'

After the potion had been drunk, Hermione helped Minerva lie back on the bed and smoothed the dark covers over her, carefully avoiding the injured side. Her patient drifted off to sleep almost immediately, but not before she had picked up her former student's hand with her own and squeezed it gently.

Hermione eased her hand out of the sleeping woman's and, after blowing out the lamp next to the bed, softly touched her lips to Minerva's brow. With one last long look at the dark-haired figure on the bed, she walked out of the room and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note_: Thanks to _fan-rei_ for pointing out several errors in grammer/spelling on my first update of this chapter. If anyone else does see a major awkward/confusing passage, please do mention it in the reviewing page and I'll correct it. _

* * *

_DAY ONE_

'Remus Lupin sent an owl to say that Tonks will be fine, it seems they were using a poison on her that had hallucinogenic effects but Moody was able to counter it…we were very lucky that we rescued her before she had got another dose.'

Minerva glared at her.

'Don't change the subject, I…'

'You have two broken ribs.' Hermione continued, speaking over the bed-bound woman's protestations, 'and are in no condition to be out of bed. You're going to stay in this room for a week, even if I have to caste a Permanent Sticking Charm on your sheets.'

Minerva's students, past and present, would swear on their wands that the woman never displayed any form of emotion. It was utterly inconceivable that the strict transfiguration professor actually possessed feelings other than anger or irritation. These otherwise astute pupils had not been watching her eyes. At the present moment, the normally transluscent orbs were clouded with a mix of pride, frustration, and sadness. Minerva hid her feelings very well, but her perfect self-control had been comprimised since the events of the previous day.

Seeing the effect that her words had had upon her reluctant patient, Hermione's features softened. Sighing, she sat down on the bed across from Minerva, placing a hand on the woman's blanket-covered knee. The older woman turned her head resolutely towards the window on the left hand side of the room, refusing to look at her. Hermione chose her words very carefully.

'I am sorry to have to do this,' she said quietly. 'You need rest and relaxation. I can't heal those ribs and we can't go hunting around for someone to do it, the Death Eaters might find us. The Order needs to lie low for the moment, you said so yourself.'

She waited for a moment to let the words sink in before continuing, praying that Minerva would agree to her next request without realizing that it was intended to distract her from her predicament.

'I was hoping that you might consider tutoring me in the more advanced transfiguration incantations. There's only so much that I can learn from books and…'

'It would be my pleasure.'

Minerva's voice resonated with sincerity. She turned back to face the younger woman and smiled at her, anger forgotten.

* * *

Hermione fell back into the nearby armchair, mentally exhausted and frustrated to the extreme.

They were working on transfiguring small objects into large ones; as the difficulty of the spell increased as the targets diverged proportionally. Hermione's task was to transfigure a sewing needle into a grand piano but she had yet to manage anything other than the needle turning into a sapling or, even worse, exploding with a loud bang and showering them both with small slivers of metal. Minerva was being her usual patient self but remained just as demanding as she had been when she'd been teaching at Hogwarts.

'You're still dropping your wrist on the up stroke. Sweep it up and down smoothly – don't force it.'

A new needle appeared between them, hovering a few feet above the floor and quivering slightly. The younger woman frowned in concentration and got to her feet again, wand up-raised.

'One moment, Hermione.' Minerva reached across the bed and retrieved her own wand from the table. 'Try this one.'

Hermione caught the thin piece of wood that was tossed at her. She was not unfamiliar with this wand; she'd seen it used countless times over the past ten years. It was considered taboo in the wizarding world to touch another's wand without express permission and more often than not, the wand would refuse to work at all. Hermione knew as much.

'I can't use this,' she said flatly. 'It won't work'

The older woman raised an eyebrow and sat back on the pillows with a mildly affronted air.

'Try it.'

With a dubious look at her mentor, Hermione raised the new wand and, quickly running over the steps for the spell in her mind, flicked it in the complex movement required. Strangely, on the upstroke, it felt as though an invisible hand had forced her to bring up her own hand higher than she would have normally.

The needle turned into a grand piano.

She nearly dropped the wand in surprise. Minerva didn't bat an eyelash.

'Very good. Now try it with your own wand.'

Obediently, the astonished young woman repeated the spell, bringing the upstroke as high as she had done the previous time. She was only mildly surprised when the instrument turned back into the sewing needle it had been previously.

'It…it was as if the wand was doing the spell by itself.'

Minerva laughed.

'Yes. It's been doing transfiguration for quite a long time and has a mind of it's own at times. Sometimes it can be a pain but more often than not it is very useful.'

'I don't understand,' the younger woman ran her thumb bemusedly across the smooth dark wood. 'I'm sure that I've read that wands will only do simple spells for those who aren't their owners…'

'It's nonsense,' the other woman cut in. 'It depends on a whole variety of factors – how powerful the witch or wizard is, what state the original user is in and the strength of the emotional connection between the original user and the new one. It's common for wands to be passed down through family lines; a good thing too considering how expensive they are..' She paused for a moment and added, 'Of course, I'm willing to bet that most of those books had been supported by wandmakers who didn't have any qualms about leaving out the fact that wands _could_ be used by more than one person – it would allow them to make a lot more money.

Smirking slightly at the igenuity of wandmakers, Hermione quietly returned the wand to the table and walked over to the window, furiously piecing together this new information with the knowledge that she already possessed. Realizing that the younger woman was not in the mood for conversation, a rare event to be sure, Minerva picked up her book and began to read.

_Emotional connection?_

* * *

_DAY TWO_

Minerva frowned as she rubbed her neck. Long periods of sitting in bed had twisted muscles into unnatural and highly uncomfortable positions and forms. Her back ached, strained far beyond its limit.

It hadn't done wonders for her temper either.

Hermione had, unsurprisingly, noticed her discomfort and offered to help. After a moment's pause, wondering exactly what the younger woman had in mind, the older woman had accepted. Now, lying facedown on her bed with sheets pulled up over her lower half for decency, but unclothed on her upper half, Minerva began to regret her hasty decision.

Until her former student began to massage her neck.

Hermione's apprenticeship at St. Mungos, although short-lived, had been filled with different techniques of easing pain and mending injury. The Head Healers at the hospital believed in a well rounded education and encouraged the learning of every type of medicinal skill imaginable, magical and otherwise. Massage had been one of her favorite methods, working the patient into a trance of comfort and pain-free bliss with the mere touch of her hands.

Of course, using it on the woman that she had idolized for the past 12 years was rather disconcerting.

Minerva was even more fragile than Hermione had imagined, a long neck leading to slim shoulders and slender waist. White sheets covered the rest of her body, but Hermione knew that almost all of that shrouded length was leg. Pale skin juxtaposed sharply with the silky, almost black hair that was caught up into an intricate twist on the back of Minerva's head. The view was extraordinary considering that the woman was over eighty. She barely looked half her age.

It was the faint white lines running across her patient's back that caught the young woman's attention and returned her to reality. With a frown, Hermione leant down for a closer look. No, she hadn't been imagining it – several long-healed cuts were etched into the woman's back, the raised flesh obvious to her touch. Among these blemishes were what looked like four burn marks, each the size of a galleon, scattered haphazardly across the otherwise flawless skin.

Hermione traced the longest scar with an index finger. It passed from the bottom of Minerva's right shoulder blade down to the lower portion of her back. Curiousity got the better of her.

'Dare I inquire as to the origin of these marks?'

Minerva sighed softly.

'The deep one that you have your finger on is from a Sectumsempra curse – very badly cast I might add – that Severus Snape hit me with during the first war against Voldemort. He apologized for it when he began teaching at Hogwarts.'

The younger woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

'And what did you say in reply?'

'I told him that it was ungentlemanly behaviour to attack a lady from behind.'

Hermione gave a low laugh and began to gently knead the top of Minerva's neck, warm hands deftly working muscles back into their proper places and correcting the position of the vertebrae. After three minutes of this, she moved downwards and began to massage the delicate, almost frail shoulders.

'The others are from our dear former School Inspector Umbridge – may she rot in Azkaban forever – and her gang of pet Aurors.'

The younger woman frowned and paused from her work, palms resting on her former teacher's shoulder blades.

'I thought they attacked you from the front.'

'They did,' Minerva's voice was much softer than its usual briskness. 'There are matching marks on my chest and stomach. Stunning Spells are capable of going through a body and burning the skin on both sides when cast with enough force.'

Hermione slowly rubbed the heels of her hands down the ridge of Minerva's spine before she spoke again, more quietly than before.

'We were in the middle of our Astronomy OWL when it happened and we saw the whole thing. You were thrown back ten feet when the beams hit you.'

Minerva let out a dry laugh.

'And knocked unconscious for half a week.'

'I felt so useless.'

The words slipped from Hermione's mouth before she could stop them.

Minerva sat up immediately and twisted around to face her former student, pulling the sheets up around her for coverage. To her surprise, there was now no twinge of pain when she moved her neck. Pushing this pleasing but presently unimportant insight to the back of her mind, she raised her right hand to Hermione's chin, tilted the young woman's head upwards to meet her gaze and asked the question that had been nagging her for several days.

'Is that why you stayed behind to look for me?'

Hermione lowered her eyes to the carpet beside the bed, not speaking. Minerva, sensing her distress, moved her hand upwards and caressed the younger woman's left cheek with her finger tips. Hermione leant into the soft touch, eyes closed, mouth trembling. A single tear ran down her cheek. It was closely followed by another.

Abandoning decorum to the winds, Minerva allowed the sheets to drop from her body and drew her former student to her chest. Hermione buried her face into her mentor's neck and wrapped her arms tightly about the woman's waist, crying softly. Minerva obligingly held her close, slowly rocking the girl in her arms back and forth. A steady stream of warm tears trickled down her own naked back and soaked into the white bedclothes.

'I was so scared,' Hermione breathed. 'The Death Eaters were everywhere and I knew you were injured and that you'd lost your wand. I didn't even know if you were still alive. I was afraid for my own life but I couldn't leave you. Not again.'

Stroking the young woman's hair, Minerva was at a loss for words. She'd had no idea that Hermione had been so frightened – after all, she had been the calm one throughout the whole affair and afterwards, taking care of and comforting Minerva and making sure that the other Order members were safe. She had forgotten that Hermione, despite being more mature than witches twice her age, still possessed vestiges of youthful innocence.

In an attempt to reassure her, Minerva tilted her head to one side and touched her lips tenderly to the smooth skin of Hermione's cheek. Warmth suddenly burst deep in her stomach, running up her spine and filling her body with a strange but oddly familiar feeling of elated pleasure. The brunette in her arms froze, muscles tense. Time stood still for five precious seconds. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the moment was gone.

* * *

Hermione had, after a murmured apology to Minerva, fled to the washroom to clean herself up and sort out her thoughts. After splashing water on her face to clear it of the hated tears, she leaned over the sink, elbows resting on either side of the basin and her head in her hands.

'_You enjoyed that'_ said the voice in her head.

'_Oh shut up'_ she snapped back.

'_Admit it, you've always wanted her to be that close – to hold you, to embrace you, to comfort you.'_

The young woman ran her fingers through her damp hair and glared at her reflection in the glass.

'_But always as a friend…a mentor'._

The new voice scoffed loudly.

'_Oh? Then why did your stomach drop out of your chest when she kissed you?'_

To this Hermione had no answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note_: Sorry for the delay. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to end this story and it took me a while (okay, two months) to decide. The 45 minute commuting (each way) to work four days a week didn't help either. The recent flurry of reviews gave me incentive to revive my interest in the story. Moral of the story? Reviews make the writer more prolific._

_Oh. The question about how Minerva was able to lie face down for her massage session? _

_A: Lots of strategically placed pillows supporting her injured side… _

* * *

_DAY THREE_

It had to be close to noon, although it was impossible to be accurate with the varying Scottish weather. The sun was hidden behind several dark clouds and only the occasional odd ray shone through onto the small valley before disappearing. On the second floor of the house the master bedroom was cast in shadow, lit only by several tall candles encased in glass lamp covers.

Two women were sitting on the large bed by the closed window, side by side, the older – possibly in her late 40's – covered by a soft wool blanket that lay across her knees. She was being monitored closely by the brunette, who was frowning slightly in concentration. The younger woman's right hand was resting against her companion's rib cage, half of which was hidden from view by a cream-coloured silk blouse.

'And breathe in.'

The woman drew in a slow breath. The pressure that she had been feeling at rest doubled to a painful ache, concentrated around the central point of her left side.

'And out.'

The air was expelled in a harsh sigh of relief. The younger woman examining her bit her lower lip, frown deepening.

'Can you raise your right arm above shoulder height?'

The slim arm rose until it was almost vertical. Only the slight hunch to the dark-haired woman's left side hinted that the movement was far from painless.

'And your left?'

Again, the patient complied, but this time managed to insert a half-groan along with the air. Her left arm would not rise above her chest without being accompanied by the sudden sensation of shooting pain arcing through her ribs and lower back and the urge to cough. She said as much.

Hermione removed her palm from Minerva's ribs with a sigh and quickly placed the warm cloth that she had enchanted with a Heating Charm back against the bruised skin. To further her concern, the dark-haired woman visibly flinched when the flannel touched her injured side. Stretching up, Hermione sat back on the bed and frowned at the injury, eyes reflecting her unease. She had been able to feel the creaking of the broken sections grinding against one another. It wasn't what she had been hoping for.

'It's not healing as fast as I'd like. I would have expected the swelling to go down after that potion I gave you yesterday.'

It had been during their morning 'practice session' that Hermione had noticed her mentor favouring her side more than she should have. The woman was obviously attempting to do too much too soon, hardly uncharacteristic of her and something that Hermione should have been watching out for earlier. Minerva was far from an easy patient. Furthermore, her ability to treat her former Transfigurations teacher was hampered by the fact that she had only had a few small vials of potions that all the Order members carried around for emergencies. There were only the most basic ingredients in Minerva's manor for making more. Not nearly the sort of things that she needed to make Skele-Grow or other complex healing potions that could have had her mentor back to full health in a few hours. Minerva's aversion to anything potion-related had become her downfall.

'If it isn't improved in two days, we'll have to risk a trip to London. Death Eaters watching us or no.'

That was the final and most dire detail of their circumstances. The fireplace in the manor was not connected to the Floo Network, a safety precaution found in all of the Order houses to prevent unwelcome visitors. Their only chance of escape was apparation and Hermione was certain that they couldn't reach London without being caught by the Death Eaters. The Apparate-Net, first used by the Ministry, had been stolen and adopted by the Death Eaters as a new means of capturing wizards and witches to torture. The Net functioned as a giant funnel, sending apparating magic-users off course and into a predetermined destination. Many of the Auror corps had been destroyed before they had realized what was being used against them. Apparation was no longer safe in Britain. Only luck and distraction among the Death Eaters had allowed the Order members to escape that horrible night two days previously. It could be relied upon that they were spying on the house right now and had cast the Net around the surrounding countryside. Their only means of communication was owl post, and even that couldn't be relied upon. Rescue was impossible. The Ministry was far too spread out to help and the Order wouldn't be able to match against the Death Eaters, a theory recently tested with terrible results. They were outnumbered almost two to one.

They were alone.

'Hermione?'

Minerva's voice broke through the young woman's gloomy thoughts. Hermione, startled, jumped slightly.

'Yes?'

'Would you wash my hair? My ribs won't let me reach up that high and magic just isn't as thorough.'

The younger woman blinked.

'Of course.'

Minerva could have sworn that Hermione had hesitated for a brief moment before answering.

* * *

Hermione was engaged in an internal struggle over what was more difficult; stopping herself from throwing herself at Minerva during the day or her present situation in which she was an active participant and had no choice in the matter. For the second time in as many days, she was blessed with the sight of Minerva's unclothed body. The numerous scars on the woman's back were more prominent in the half-sunlight and her pale skin shone from underneath the long mane of her now glistening black hair. It was taking all of Hermione's self-control not to burst out of her own skin. All she could do was channel it out slowly through polite conversation.

'Is the water too cold?

'It's perfect.'

The younger woman shifted her weight to one leg and re-adjusted her position on the side of the tub, carefully avoiding the small droplets of water that quivered on its porcelain edge. Running her fingers through Minerva's damp hair, Hermione had begun to have a general idea of her personal Hell that she destined for. All through her last year at Hogwarts she had tried to find some flaw to make this woman less appealing. When she had failed at this, Hermione had turned to distractions of the male gender. Ron had been just as unsuccessful. Last night's massage session and the ensuing emotional display of which she had been a starring member had awoken feelings that she had buried years previously.

Gods. She could _see_ her hands trembling.

_She could sense every contour of the woman's body and feel the heat of it radiating through her own clothes. Slim arms encircled her neck and drew her closer to this lovely form. Closing her eyes, she could hear the soft, slow breaths of her..._

No. Hermione forcefully pushed those thoughts out of her mind with a silent scream of frustration. She couldn't even entertain the idea. It was dishonest of her to think about her friend and mentor in that light.

It was wrong.

Minerva leant forward and began to wash the soap off of her legs, utterly unaware of this silent mental battle going on in her caretaker's head. Hermione continued to mechanically lather the woman's dark hair with conditioner and smooth it through every strand.

_You're a sensible, intelligent woman and I can promise you that falling in love with your former transfigurations professor doesn't exactly fit your normal character. There are far more productive things that you could be doing instead of day-dreaming about a potential romance. So stop thinking about what her lips would feel like against your throat. _

Lecturing voice and lecherous thoughts vying for her attention, Hermione furiously ran through the steps for theoretical broom enchantment and dangers associated with permanent charms as she rinsed out the remaining conditioner from Minerva's hair. It worked. The seductive voice vanished and was replaced by recollections of articles detailing the difficulties of completing studies on a long term basis.

_Good girl_, said the second voice._ I think that we've made excellent progress today, don't you? _

Unfortunately, all of the personal development was destroyed when Minerva raised herself somewhat awkwardly out of the tub and Hermione didn't avert her eyes fast enough. The sight of a gloriously slender and unclothed female form flashed into view and the younger woman felt her heart skip a beat.

To her horror, the ever-observant Transfigurations professor noticed her blanche and turned to face her, surprised.

'Hermione, are you alright?'

'Fine.'

Hermione's traitorous voice, pitched half an octave above normal, belayed her nervousness. Concerned, the older woman tied her dark bathrobe deftly around her slim waist with her good hand and reached out to lay it across Hermione's forehead. Feeling no unusual warmth that might explain the woman's unease, Minerva removed it with a frown, mind still searching for a logical cause.

'Maybe you should get some rest. Those transfigurations we were working on this morning can be exceptionally taxing on the mind, especially when performed correctly.'

Hermione jumped on the chance to escape.

'I'll go read,' she managed to say, 'It's barely noon – far too early for sleeping.'

_Coward, _screamed the voice in her head. _Where's that Gryffindor bravery that you're reputed to possess?_

The voice's incessant urging and accusatory tone finally had it's effect. Hermione, who had turned around to leave the room, stopped herself. It would have to be done sooner or later anyway, she reasoned.

'Minerva?

The woman looked up from the opposite side of the bedroom, eyebrows slightly raised.

'I should comb your hair first. We'll never get the tangles out if we don't do it now.'

The voice in her head chortled gleefully. The second, more logical, voice that had appeared that very morning gave a sigh of vexation. Hermione pointedly ignored them both.

The dark-haired woman gave a wry smile.

'Alas…there are penalties to having long hair after all.'

* * *

A quick charm dried Minerva's damp hair in a flash and Hermione set about detangling it with a wooden comb.

To her surprise, her mentor began to laugh softly.

'What is it?'

Still smiling, Minerva met her eyes in the mirror that sat opposite them on the small chest of drawers.

'Something Albus said almost twenty years ago. He claimed that the day that I let someone touch my hair would be the same day that the Ministry raised all the staff's salaries and gave us a Christmas bonus.'

'I suppose I should apply to Hogwarts then,' Hermione laughed, 'It's about time I found a proper job and at least teaching would pay well.'

Minerva's face clouded.

'The Ministry will only re-open the school when Voldemort and his followers are either beaten or captured. And although Harry only needs to finish off Voldemort now, the Death Eaters in Britain still need to be found and taken care of.'

'Have you been guaranteed the spot of Headmistress?' Hermione was determined to re-direct the conversation away from recent events and the murder of Hestia Jones. Another session of emotional upheaval might be her undoing.

'Oh yes. They can't take that away from me…my contract is very specific and the rules of closing the school – although they were made in a hurry – state that all positions must be offered to their old occupants before new staff can be approached.' Minerva scowled at the thought of having to personally approach Sybill Trelawney with the request that she resume teaching Divination at Hogwarts. 'Returning teachers not withstanding, we will at least need new Transfigurations and Potions professors and, of course, the Dark Arts post.'

Hermione was distracted by a particularly tricky snarl that had appeared in the middle of one of the long dark strands she was combing. Failing to tease it out, she muttered a detangling charm and continued with her work.

'You will apply, won't you?'

The young woman looked up in surprise. She'd never seriously considered teaching as a profession, despite her time as a prefect and her continued assistance with the younger (and occasionally older) students' work. Working independently and researching and testing new theories had been at the forefront of her planning. Minerva was studying her intently, dark eyes unreadable.

'I don't know,' she finally settled on. 'Everything seems to have fallen to pieces since Sixth Year.'

_But you'd be working with her again. _

Minerva winced and Hermione became aware that she was pulling the tangles out with less care than she might be.

'Sorry. I'll try to be more gentle.'

Her former teacher reached up and caught her wrist lightly with her right hand.

'You are always gentle.'

Hermione blushed and turned back to concentrate on her task. Minerva studied her for a few more moments in the mirror before resuming her examination of the scenery outside. After several minutes, the younger woman set down the comb and gathered the now smooth hair into a bunch. A few twists and two hair pins later and Minerva's dark hair was once again gathered into a bun, albeit slightly looser than its normal style.

'Since hairdressing doesn't seem to be my forte, I may need to consider other job options.'

Minerva carefully touched her now-clean hair and shook her head slightly from side to side, attempting to dislodge any loose hairs. Not surprisingly, the bun was perfectly made and didn't move an inch.

'Thank you.'

'Ever considered wearing it down?'

The older woman shot her a look that spoke volumes. Hermione sighed.

'Never mind. Silly of me to ask.'


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note_: I'll admit it…I'm a slow writer. I was infamous for it in college – the instructors began to expect that I'd hand in my assignments several days after the due date. Look on the bright side…you only had to wait for a month for this chapter as opposed to the two month wait for the previous one (lucky you!). _

* * *

DAY FOUR

_Briskly swirl for half a minute and fold over with metal spatula. Do not overcook._

Hermione frowned at the contents of the frying pan on the stove. Logically, there should have been two servings of scrambled eggs in the center, but all she could make out was a small mound of brownish goo clinging tenaciously to the pan. It didn't remotely resemble the tan-coloured breakfast that the cookbook said it should. Prodding it with her spatula, she discovered to her dismay that the burnt mass also possessed the consistency of glue, having affixed itself firmly to the metal bottom with stubborn intent. With a heavy sigh, Hermione scraped the remains of breakfast into the garbage and returned to the open cookbook on the counter to re-read the instructions for the third time.

For one brief moment, she lamented the absence of a house elf to cook for them, but immediately scolded herself for wishing unjust enslavement upon an innocent creature for her own selfish desires. No use wishing for things she couldn't have anyway. She would simply have to learn how to cook the old fashioned way; from a book written for that purpose (a method which had proved quite reliable for her up until now). Opening up the refrigerator door, Hermione reached for the now familiar cardboard container and set it on the counter. Hopefully the forth time would be a charm.

She was running out of eggs.

* * *

'Toast again. Are we running low on food?'

The woman's seemingly innocent question was answered with a glare of considerable magnitude from Hermione.

'No, Minerva, we are not out of food. My cooking skills encompass a broad range of culinary delicacies from every corner of the world. Unfortunately for us, they all require a microwave.' Hermione bit off a corner of her toast, pausing to chew and swallow before continuing. 'As I am unprepared to install the said appliance – bypassing the Death Eaters that are sure to be waiting for me to step outside being the issue - we shall have to settle for uncooked meals for the duration of our stay here.'

'Might I…' Minerva was uncharacteristically meek.

'No.'

'Just…'

'_No_.'

'If I could only…'

'_I am not going to allow you to get out of bed to cook!'_

The bed-bound woman poked at her slice of toast and muttered something about the irony of a certain young witch being able to brew the most complex of potions and still be unable to cook a simple meal. With an loud exclamation of frustration, Hermione threw herself off her chair and, grabbing a random book from the nearby shelf, stalked over to the only other armchair in the far corner of the room. Shooting a final look of disgust at Minerva, she turned to the first chapter and began to read.

Abandoning her slice of dry toast with a sigh, the dark-haired woman bite experimentally into her pear. Thankfully the seasonal fruit was ripe and un-tainted by Hermione's unique culinary skills. Hunger sated for the moment, Minerva reached for her daily reading, a leather-bound tome that a former colleague had sent her months ago. She'd have to tackle the food issue at another time, preferably when Hermione wasn't ready to attack her with the nearest piece of furniture on hand.

* * *

Hours passed.

Minerva's reading lay forgotten on the small table beside the bed, the chapters had sped by all too quickly and she was reduced to staring out the window at the blue hills in the distance, deep in reflection. The woman hadn't visited her family home for more than a few days at a time since she began working at Hogwarts but she had always hated being locked up in its rooms without access to the outside valleys and forests. The only thing that made her time as an invalid bearable now was the presence of young witch that was treating her. The perfect match for Minerva's own intelligence; clever, constantly seeking new things to learn and ready to challenge all that she felt was erroneous or unjust. In short, the perfect Gryffindor.

Minerva studied the woman sitting in the only armchair across the room, bathed in the warmth of the early afternoon sunlight that shone through the tall windows. When standing, Hermione stood several inches shorter than herself, although the young woman's body was composed of stronger curves than Minerva's. Hazel eyes, accentuated by long dark eyelashes, darted back and forth across the page at an alarming speed. Perfectly shaped lips tilted ever so slightly downwards in the faint frown of concentration but were more often than not quirked up in a knowing smile. Her hair had darkened slightly to a deeper shade of chestnut than it had been in her youth, but remained as thick and wavy as ever.

It was odd. Hermione Granger had always been mature beyond her years and certainly brighter than any other student she'd ever taught but Minerva had never noticed her beauty.

The realization was mildly unsettling to say the least.

'Minerva?'

Hermione called her name for a third time. The older woman blinked and shook her head slightly to clear it, bringing her right hand up to rub her eyes.

'Sorry, Hermione.'

The object of her recent study smiled and set the book she had been reading on the nearby dresser.

'It was as if you were lost in your own world there for a moment.'

Minerva leant back against the walnut bed-board with a sigh and tilted her head upwards to gaze at the white ceiling.

'Just reminiscing about Hogwarts.'

Rising out of her chair, Hermione quietly walked over to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers beside her mentor. She settled herself next to the older woman and tucked her knees up to her chest. Finding this position difficult to hold, she steadied herself by folding her arms around her shins and resting her back against a pillow.

'I miss it too. There is something so precious about being part of a larger whole, to feel wanted and needed by so many people. The war has changed so many things.'

The younger woman's voice triggered something in Minerva and the older woman gave an involuntary shiver. Frowning, Hermione placed her hand on the other woman's wrist in concern.

'Are you cold? I can conjure more blankets if you need them.'

Minerva shook her head slightly and shot her a reassuring smile. Sun-lit dark eyes met bright hazel. The two woman gazed at one another for a long moment and an unspoken statement of…understanding…passed between them.

Hermione stroked the inside of the slender wrist she was still holding with her own thumb and, hesitantly, carefully gathered Minerva into her arms. The cream silk blouse that the woman was wearing made the slim body slippery and difficult to manoeuvre. Surprisingly, her former teacher didn't resist her embrace and, indeed, moved even closer, resting her head on Hermione's chest. After settling into the most comfortable position, one that didn't place any stresses on her own chest, Minerva let out a soft sigh of contentment and closed her eyes. Almost as an afterthought, Hermione removed the metal clips that held the woman's hair up and gently ran her fingers through the smooth, dark waves that she had combed only the day before.

They sat in silence for several hours, lightly dozing in the warm sunlight that illuminated the bed, Hermione absently stroking Minerva's hair. Neither of the women spoke, both filled with the innate knowing that the moment would be irrevocably broken if words were introduced. The looming threat of danger that had haunted them for the several days was set aside and forgotten. Only a sense of comfort and empathetic ease remained.

Hermione felt herself drifting off several times but consciously stopped herself from closing her eyes. Minerva's warm slender body was draped over her own and the young woman wouldn't have wasted this precious moment with sleep for all the magic in the world. She had dreamed about scenes like this and it was so much more wonderful in reality.

The rays lit Minerva's face and wreathed her head in a halo of ethereal light. Long strands of silky hair fell down over one side of her face and followed the curve of her pale throat down to her chest. Hermione let out the breath she had been holding. Minerva had no right to look so…so…

'…_gorgeous?'_ her inner voice supplied in a mocking tone.

Hermione broke the silence, voice husky from disuse.

'Minerva?'

The glorious eyes flickered open at once but immediately shut tight again against the dazzling light; face turning slightly to bury itself instinctively in the soft material of Hermione's sweater. Smiling, she drew her hand up from Minerva's neck and brushed away several stray hairs that had drifted onto the woman's cheek.

'I'd best be getting dinner ready – it's getting late.'

It was several moments before the other woman replied, words slightly muffled by cashmere.

'What time is it?'

'Close to five.'

_Let her sleep._

'I was just beginning to get warm,' Minerva murmured softly.

Hermione smiled despite herself.

'You could always transform. It'd take less heat to warm up a smaller body.'

The woman in her lap opened one eye and narrowed it expertly at her former pupil.

'I don't need a lecture on thermodynamics – I'm comfortable as I am,' she said icily. 'And need I remind you that you've forbidden me from changing to my animagus form until I'm completely healed?'

At a loss for words, the young brunette sighed in defeat and arched her neck up towards the ceiling in mock consternation. Satisfied that her heat source wasn't going to suddenly disappear, Minerva wrapped her arm around Hermione's waist and closed her eyes. Hugging her pupil close, she drifted off into a half-slumber again, head buried in the young woman's soft sweater. Hermione traced a finger along Minerva's hairline and smiled to herself.

'You're not going to start purring, are you?'

The woman was too deep in slumber to protest. Hermione yawned and slowly let her head slide back onto the pillow that she was resting against.

_Everything seemed so simple at a time like this._

* * *

_DAY FIVE_

Hermione awoke to the pleasurable sensation of her spine being rudely clamped into a metal vice and tightened to the point of snapping by an incompetent torturer.

Her back hurt.

Muttering an oath under her breath, she attempted to extract herself from the half-sitting position that she seemed to be frozen in and failed miserably. She was far too stiff.

Maybe Minerva could…

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she searched the bedroom for her patient, turning her partially frozen neck from side to side. There was no sign of the Scottish woman. Only the slightly open door to the hallway with the faint sound of dishes wafting through from downstairs.

_She wouldn't have…_

* * *

Minerva hummed to herself as she divided the various portions of breakfast onto the two plates. As long as she didn't reach for things on the shelves and used her wand, she had no trouble aside from a few minor twinges in her chest. Strangely, there didn't seem to be any eggs left in the refrigerator, she made a mental note to ask Hermione about that later.

The loud clattering of footsteps on the stairs announced the impending arrival of her young warden and the beginnings of what could easily escalate into a verbal war. Steeling herself, Minerva returned to her preparation of the meal with a sigh.

Goodness. By the sound of it the woman was clearing three steps at a time.

Mere moments later, Hermione burst in through the kitchen door in a cold fury. Strangely, the young woman was clutching her lower back and stooped in a half upright position that looked none too comfortable.

'What are you doing out of bed?' she hissed.

'Making breakfast,' came the infuriatingly calm reply.

'_You'll aggravate your condition!'_

Her voice was the soul of indignance. Minerva shot her a level look at her irate former student over her shoulder.

'The only thing that will aggravate my condition is if I have to eat dry toast every morning until I'm better. Now, if you will kindly set the table, we can begin our meal.'

Only love and loyalty kept Hermione from strangling her.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: It was such a pain to complete this chapter. I had originally had it as a VERY long section of the story, but I finally had split it up into three parts and expand it so that it wasn't so rushed. So. That's my excuse for being so late this time. An apology to all of you who have been following this story faithfully. _

_It was the 'filling out' of this chapter that delayed it for so long. On the bright side, I got to create some fictional history for Minerva and answer, in my own way, the question of the missing Order membership of the fifth book. Oh. And I've change the rating of this story in anticipation of the next chapter. _

_Things should update quicker now (e.g. more often than once a month), as I have most of the story finished and only a few sections to add to the chapters. _

* * *

Breakfast was a restrained affair. Conversation was non-existent due to Minerva's difficulty in shutting out the sound of grinding molars emanating the other side of the table – audible even over the gentle clinking of cutlery on plates. Hermione was obviously still seething over her patient's abandonment of her carefully organized medical care. Minerva watched as the woman across from her skewered a piece of bacon with more than necessary force with her fork. Her student had never taken well to unexpected disruptions in her plans. Normally the older woman would be sympathetic to the plight, as it was something she had always had difficulty adapting to, but her empathy was nominal due to her role in the state of affairs.

Honestly. Being cooped up in bed for days on end would make even the sanest person go off the deep end. And the food had been the final straw.

'Hermione?'

The grinding of enamel stopped abruptly. Minerva's nerves let out a silent sigh of relief which she managed to stop her features from duplicating.

'I realize that your parents are excellent dentists, but continue in that manner and I shall insure that there will be nothing left to brush.'

The younger woman glowered at her. Unperturbed, the Scottish witch returned it with a look of feigned innocence and returned to her bacon in a much better mood.

A slight twinge in her ribs prompted her to choke and she coughed roughly. The sharp pains shooting across her chest and side made her wince and she braced herself with one forearm on the dining table.

'Minerva?'

Hermione was frowning at her, eyebrows knit, obviously concerned. Still coughing slightly, the older woman waved her away.

'I'm fine – food went down the wrong way.'

Her protégé looked alarmed at this and pushing her chair away from the table, made to stand up.

'Hermione!'

Minerva's voice was more than a little snappish. Looking slightly hurt, the younger woman slowly sat back down. The Scottish witch felt an immediate twinge of shame when she saw the injured expression on her former pupil's face. Setting down her fork on the side her plate, Minerva rubbed her temple with her good hand before speaking again.

'Hermione,' her voice was much softer this time, 'I didn't mean to sound that way. I've never taken well to extended periods of illness, it tends to fray my temper to a hair's breadth. I do appreciate your concern for my health, your care of me over the past week has been exemplary.'

'I've run out.'

Confused, Minerva looked across at Hermione for clarification. 'Run out?'

'I've run out of potion,' the young woman elaborated, plucking at the cloth napkin on her lap. 'I extended it for as long as I could but we only had two bottles to begin with, so…'

'…and my potion ingredients stores?'

'They're missing half of the things I'd need to do any good.' Hermione was now twisting her napkin between her hands, stress marring her features. 'The healing potions that Snape makes us are notoriously complicated and I'm not sure I'd be able to duplicate them correctly even with the proper ingredients.'

The young woman dropped the cloth back onto her knees and reached across the table to clasp Minerva's right hand with her left. Hermione's eyes were desperate when they met her mentor's.

'_Please_ promise me that you'll rest in bed until I'm sure that you're out of danger. You may get out of bed to cook if you agree not to exert yourself.'

A long moment of silence passed before Minerva inclined her head in acceptance of the terms. Features relaxing visibly, Hermione sat back in her chair with a sigh of relief and brought both of her hands up to rub her eyes with her fingers.

* * *

_DAY SIX_

Minerva was sleeping.

Hermione peered out the window from the armchair that she was reading in, gazing into the large stand of trees that surrounded the house. She hadn't dared to send any owls to the Order, who obviously knew where they were and the situation that they were in. Lupin's message the first day had been clear; Tonks was safe, Hestia Jones' body had been recovered by the Order and the Ministry was too busy preventing mass Muggle attacks assist in a rescue.

The rain and dark clouds made the view depressing and with a quiet sigh, she turned her gaze back to her former teacher's slumbering form.

This woman had embodied all she had ever wanted to be when she was a student at Hogwarts. The guiding light of her youth. The young Hermione Granger could not have imagined a more flattering complement than to be compared to her favorite teacher by her friends, although more often than not it had been because one of them had been frustrated by her.

And then, around her sixth year, all had changed.

A cough from the bed snapped her out of her reverie and Hermione immediately got up out of her armchair and moved over to her patient's side, heart racing. Her concern was unwarranted; Minerva was still fast asleep. It had just been an innocuous cough.

With another sigh, she silently returned to her chair, summoning another random book from the shelf with a quiet '_Accio_' charm. The leather bound volume obediently fell into her lap and with a final look at Minerva's sleeping form she opened to the first page.

To her surprise, instead of words, several yellowing parchment-framed pictures were glued onto the page, their occupants moving slightly as all wizarding photos did. A photo album. Of Minerva's family no less. Curiosity at an all time high, Hermione slowly worked her way through the old tome.

The first page and several following it were filled with cheerful duplicates of Minerva's parents. Hermione felt her heart stop once she saw what they looked like. Minerva's mother was fair and grey-eyed and looked to be shorter than her daughter, but had the same straight nose, slim build and delicate, high cheekbones. The woman was embracing her husband, a tall, dark-eyed man who possessed a very familiar looking smile. Handwriting beside the photo listed their names and the date the picture had been taken. Hermione leafed to the next page and was greeted by the couple again, sitting in the exact room that she was presently in, holding each other close and laughing silently. Several pictures down, Minerva's mother was sitting at the piano downstairs and playing a silent piece of music as her husband flipped the pages for her, one hand resting lovingly on her shoulder. The clothing that the woman was wearing showed that she was more than six month's pregnant. Smiling to herself, Hermione flipped the sheet over.

It was blank. Inspection showed evidence of a ripped out page, the ragged edge sunken into the spine of the album, torn out by someone many, many years ago.

Frowning, she turned to the next page. There were only two pictures here, one of a two year-old version of the sleeping woman across from her, gently being rocked to sleep by her father and the other of Minerva in her Hogwart's first year student robes, long hair tied back into a ponytail, dark eyes serious. There was no sign of her mother in either photo.

Hermione wracked her memory for any knowledge of Minerva's parents. She knew that her father had been killed in the war in Europe against Grindlewald and that Minerva only just graduated from Hogwarts when he died. But her mentor's mother was without a story. Had she left? Unlikely, the affection that Minerva's mother had held for her husband was obvious. Died? If so, when and how?

Turning the page, the brunette pushed these questions to the back of her mind. She'd bring up the subject of the album with Minerva when the woman was well again.

Quidditch team photos covered three subsequent sheets. Hermione peered at the first picture on the top of the page. Tall, thin and wielding a Beater's bat in her right hand, a third-year Minerva was standing with her six other team members from Gryffindor around the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Further clips showed her presence on the House team through seventh year, a Captain's pin next to her Head Girl badge. Gryffindor had won the cup that year too, and this teenage version of Hermione's Transfiguration professor was smiling shyly at the camera amid her cheering teammates, glasses askew and hair windswept.

The mood of the album suddenly changed after the Quidditch photos. The script became the recognizable handwriting that she had received on so many of her assignments in school; slightly slanted and immaculate.

A group portrait, some twenty witches and wizards lined up in two rows. Dark hair plaited neatly into a single braid, a very youthful looking Minerva McGonagall was standing next to an auburn-bearded Albus Dumbledore in the center. Around them, several familiar faces could be seen, a far more intact Alastor Moody was directly behind them, a middle-aged Emmeline Vance several faces down the line and what looked like a close relative of Remus Lupin beside her. The caption on the page beside the picture told that this was the British Wizarding Corps after the defeat of Grindlewald in Europe.

Hermione recalled the details of that piece of history. Coinciding and intertwined with the muggles' Second World War, it had been the first major conflict that the magical community had been a part of in almost a century with many lives lost on both sides. Obviously the Corps had been hard hit in that respect; none of the occupants of the photo were smiling, all looked grim and serious. Even Albus Dumbledore's eyes were without that sparkle of humor.

Close to ten pages revealed the gradual timeline of Minerva's teaching career. Student photos, shots of the castle, a few staff group pictures, Quidditch prints. In all of the pictures that she was in, Minerva McGonagall's hair was up in its traditional bun. Hogwarts had been her life for more than forty-five years, some as a student and many decades as a teacher. Short explanations of each picture were inscibed in dark green ink next to the corresponding photo.

A version of the original Order of the Phoenix interspaced one of these pages. Hermione had seen this picture before, several years previously in Grimmauld Place. A relaxed group photo of Harry's parents, a smiling Sirius Black, the Longbottoms, Dumbledore and his brother, many, many others which she recognized. Oddly enough, this photo wasn't attached to the page and it fell out when she shifted the book in her lap. Moving to pick the picture up, she spied a scrawling hand that was not her teacher's across the back of the photo.

_Minerva, _

_The Order missed your presence last night. We would have organized a rescue mission to wrest you from the grasp of St. Mungo's had Madam Pomprey not been the one guarding you. In lue of this, Hagrid took this photo and demanded I send it to you at the first opportunity. _

_Wishing you a speedy recovery,_

_AD_

Well. That explained the lack of her dark-haired teacher's presence in the picture. Minerva had been injured. Hermione had always wondered about her absence from the original Order photo.

The chiming of a grandfather clock downstairs alerted her to the fact that it was past nine. Placing the photo album back on the bookshelf, mentally reminding herself to finish it when she next had time, she walked over to the bed at the other side of the room. For a brief instant, Hermione considered waking up the slumbering witch to check her bandages but decided against it. Minerva needed sleep, it would speed the recovery process.

After checking her patient's heart rate – slightly elevated but still reasonable – Hermione turned out the lights with a wave of her wand and crept down the hall to her bedroom.

* * *

_DAY SEVEN_

Hermione woke up with a start. A quick glance at the clock on her table informed her that it was one in the morning. Instinct told her that something was wrong. Quickly donning a dressing gown that was lying over the back of a nearby chair, she walked out into the hall and towards Minerva's room.

A hacking cough stopped her dead in her tracks. She ran the last few steps to the door and threw it open. A low cry escaped her mouth once she saw what lay on the other side.

The bedcovers had been kicked away and were spilling onto the carpet. Minerva lay in the center of the bed, both arms wrapped around a feather pillow that was clutched tightly to her body. A faint sheen of sweat lay on her exposed skin. Her dark hair had come out of its loose braid and stands of it were sticking to the woman's damp forehead.

'_Damn_,' Hermione hissed under her breath, 'No, no, _no!'_

Muttering a conjuring spell even as she ran towards her mentor, a small bowl full of water and a cloth appeared on the floor beside the bed. She had to cool the woman down, before she did anything else. Dipping the washcloth into the bowl, she wrung it out and began to gently wipe away at Minerva's forehead and neck, vainly attempting to sooth the feverish temperature that had taken hold of the woman's body.

_Why are you even bothering? There's no point in delaying the inevitable…_

Dropping the cloth back into the basin, Hermione gently pried away the pillow from Minerva's arms. She knew what she would find before she finished unbuttoning her patient's blouse but even so, her eyes closed reflexively once she peeled away the dressing. Angry red lines were streaking away from blue and purple bruise along Minerva's ribcage. The inflamed skin was burning around the injury.

Infection.

'Minerva?' The older woman met her gaze with unfocused eyes. Hermione hesitated, dreading what she was going to have to do next, what they were going to have risk. 'I need to get you to Mungo's…I can't do anything for you here.'

Her former teacher attempted to prop herself onto one elbow and almost collapsed before Hermione caught her.

'Minerva, _please…_don't move!'

The young woman was almost crying with frustration.

'Oh Minerva,' she whispered to herself, 'What do I do? How can I get you out of here?'

* * *

There were no stars. The landscape surrounding the house looked so much bleaker at night, the exposed rocks on the hills dull and the clouds cresting the hills. Hermione was eerily reminded of that fateful night a week ago. It had been misty then, too.

Straightening her shoulders, she stepped over the threshold of the manor and onto the dark grass of the moor. A quick spell locked the door behind her, securing its contents from all who would attempt to gain access.

All of the sudden she felt more alone than she had ever felt before in her life.

Gripping her shoulder bag all the more tightly to her chest, pulling her cardigan close, Hermione took a deep breath and spun around with the mental image of St. Mungo's firmly imbedded in her mind.

The squeezing sensation began. No pulling. No magical enchantments forcing her to an unwanted and dangerous location. All was safe. Relief flooding into her, Hermione relaxed into the numbness of magical travel and willed herself more firmly to London.

Suddenly, all normality vanished. The familiar pressure of apparation had been replaced by an unexpected icy cold, freezing her down to her bones. Time seemed to slow, gelling into a chillingly viscous substance that clung to her flesh and pulled her sideways to a new destination. There was a flash of bright light before Hermione was hurled down onto a stone floor by an extreme force. Spots of white dancing in her vision, she lay, half stunned, on the flagstones.

Voices.

Clutching at the bag that she had managed to keep safe when she fell, Hermione reached for her wand and shuffled backwards away from the sound. The voices followed her.

Instinct warned her. Hermione shouted out a Shielding Spell just as a flash of red light crashed overhead and bounced off the magical barrier, scattering sparks everywhere. The force of it pushed her back onto the floor and only with a desperate strength was she able to keep a hold on her precious cargo.

Laughter.

Frantic panic threatening to set in, Hermione shot off three spells in quick succession, firing wildly. Her vision had not cleared enough to see who she was fighting against.

'_Parvulus Mens!'_

A yell told her that she had hit at least one of her attackers. Pushing herself to her knees, she made to defend herself again when everything suddenly went black.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Long chapter (comparatively!) but I actually finished before a month had passed. In fact, only half the time._

_The cat's out of the bag now. Cookies for _warmheart_ for correctly guessing Minerva's location at the end of last chapter. _

* * *

It was dark.

Minerva McGonagall tried to move her outstretched arms and failed. Her wrists felt stiff and immobile, as if they had been tied in place. Strangely, the pain in her ribs that had been her constant companion for the past week had vanished. Her head felt…cloudy…for some strange reason and her vision was blurred, although she could feel her glasses still resting against the bridge of her nose.

Where was she?

A cool hand suddenly pressed lightly against her forehead, fingers flush against the skin, making her gasp in surprise.

'_Hermione?'_

A low laugh answered her. Minerva turned her head towards the sound. Her blood chilled when a familiar voice came from directly beside her.

'Professor McGonagall! It's _so_ good to see you again. I was hoping to see you last week but sudden unpleasant business…Muggle, of course…called me away. My husband said he'd almost coaxed you into a visit but didn't quite pull it off in the end. I was terribly disappointed to find that I'd missed you.'

A swish of robes and the last person Minerva had ever wanted to see again appeared in front of her. 'She-devil', the Minister of Magic had called her in a public address several years ago, after she had orchestrated a particularly brutal murder of a prominent wizarding family. Leader of the Death Eaters in Britain since Voldemort's retreat to Europe. Murderer of dozens of wizards and witches and thousands of muggles over the course of two wars. And, the most terrifying of all, former student of Minerva's from almost four decades earlier at Hogwarts.

Bellatrix Lestrange could have easily been mistaken for Minerva in dim light.. Her skin was a shade darker and her appearance ravaged somewhat by thirteen long years in Azkaban but they shared the same angular features, same height and same slim body type. Similar in every respect save for their eyes. Minerva's dark ones were always alive with the sparkle of humor or flash of righteous anger. Bellatrix's were a clouded grey and always held an abyss of utter madness in their depths, darkened further by cruelty.

Every instinct told Minerva to struggle and scream.

The dark-haired woman tilted Minerva's chin upwards with a long finger and inspected her captive's face with a critical eye. The Scottish witch met Bellatrix's stare defiantly, physically unable to shy away from the unwanted touch. She could barely repress the fear that had begun to creep through her body, reminding her that she had not arrived her alone. Where was Hermione?

'Still as beautiful as ever I see', Bellatrix finally said, releasing her prisoner's chin but still searching Minerva's face with her eyes, faint curiosity visible in her features. 'You've hardly aged a day from when you taught me, and that was thirty five years ago.'

'Thirty seven' Minerva corrected coolly. She had to stay calm. It wasn't time to fight, not yet, and panic would be in vain. Talking was her only weapon now.

Bellatrix laughed a high, wild laugh and, almost tenderly, stroked back a stray piece of hair from her former teacher's face.

'It was really your fault you know. I wouldn't have joined Him if you'd accepted me first. I wouldn't have been forced to marry my husband if you'd protected me from my family. You could have saved me, but you chose not to.'

Minerva's dark eyes locked onto her captor's light ones.

'Don't push blame on others for your own choices, Bellatrix.'

The Death Eater retracted her hand from Minerva's face as though burnt. Gray eyes darkened and Bellatrix stepped back a pace, away from her prisoner.

'That's no way to talk to an old friend.'

Minerva barely even saw the woman draw her wand before she felt the Cruciatus curse rush down her limbs, contorting her body into agonizing spasms. Every muscle contracted and stiffened, her entire being tossed into throes of agony, flesh burning with terrible energy. She let out a high cry and arched her neck and spine backwards in a vain attempt to relieve the excruciating pain that filled her skull. After ten seconds – an eternity in her mind – the spell was lifted. It took several moments for her to organize words into a coherent sentence, still gasping for oxygen to fill her ruthlessly emptied lungs. The pounding of blood in her ears was deafening, the angry surge pumping through her body, making her dizzy and causing spots to appear in her vision. The incredible_ ache_ of the curse still lingered.

'What do you want, Miss Black?' she finally managed to whisper, voice hoarse with the effort.

The Death Eater ignored her, instead turning away from Minerva and walking towards the other side of the room. For the first time, Minerva could see a slumped form against the opposite wall, partially hidden in the darkness.

Hermione.

Bellatrix Lestrange was wearing a sickening smile on her face as she glanced briefly back at Minerva.

'What a _lovely_ young woman you've brought along – or should I say, that brought _you_ along with her. It's not very often that we keep a Mudblood alive but I made an exception just this once.'

Here, Bellatrix raised Hermione up against the opposite wall with a silent levitation spell and moved even closer to her inert form, curiosity playing over her cruel features. Strangely, aside from being unconscious, the young woman seemed unharmed, no blood visible on her body or robes.

'Severus told me all about your pet Head Girl before he switched sides – she's almost as clever as you, apparently. She certainly tried to stop us from taking you, we still haven't found the counter-jinx to the spell she used on McInnis.' The gaunt woman reached out and ruffled Hermione's hair roughly before turned back to face Minerva. 'I'm quite desperate to talk to her; we have so many things in common, she and I.'

Without warning, Bellatrix had whipped around and viciously backhanded Hermione in the face with her clenched fist. Hermione's head snapped back with the force of the blow and collided hard with stone wall behind her. The ominous crack of the young woman's nose breaking could be heard across the room and a fresh gush of warm blood splashed across her sweater. The Death Eater's binding spell dissipating, the newly released Hermione slid down the wall and slumped to the stone flagstones with a sickening sound.

Only the ropes that held her wrists to the wall stopped Minerva from jumping on the woman standing in front of her. Tears of fury stung her eyes.

Bellatrix watched her reaction with ill-contained glee.

'You feel rather strongly about this one, don't you Minerva? How strange.' Looking back down at the unconscious form by her feet, Bellatrix carelessly turned Hermione over with the toe of her boot. The young woman's face was splattered crimson with the newly spilt blood and dark bruising had already begun to appear on her skin. Smirking, obviously pleased with the results of physical violence, the Death Eater moved back to her other prisoner.

'She didn't take very good care of you, you should have seen the state you were in when we changed you back from your cat form. And your ribs…tsk, tsk…'

One of Bellatrix's hands had slipped under Minerva's robes and was roughly stroking the contours of her newly-healed chest, moving upwards, following when she twisted away from the touch.

Minerva was radiating hatred, spine rigid, dark eyes spitting flame. The rough ropes around her slender wrists shook with her uncontrollable anger.

'Ironic, isn't it?' the grey-eyed witch was whispering in her ear now, all the while fondling her breasts. 'Whole _generations_ of young men and women pining after their Transfigurations teacher with no result and now…'

'_Minerva?'_

Hermione's voice, weak as it was, broke through the Death Eater's speech. Bellatrix's eyes sparkled with mischief and, removing her hand from under her prisoner's blouse, she slyly winked at Minerva before kneeling down next to her other prisoner. To Minerva's horror, the woman drew Hermione into her arms, petting her hair and murmuring soothing words of comfort. Incredibly, the younger woman drifted back to sleep almost immediately. Bellatrix spoke softly, as if not to wake her.

'Ah Minerva, how cruel of you to chose her over me. I can certainly see the attraction but I can't even begin to comprehend how you were able to get past her _tainted_ blood,' Bellatrix smiled at the older woman as she held up her hand for evidence, dripping red with Hermione's still warm life blood.

'Viper.'

Minerva's spat out the word. A mocking smile twisting her features, her captor carelessly tossed the unconscious Hermione back onto the floor and stood up again, walking slowly towards the bound witch.

'You're a very strong woman, Minerva McGonagall, but I know your deepest secret. You've buried your emotions under that cool demeanor and aloof nature and yet…'

Their faces were now inches apart and Minerva could hear her former student's heartbeat. The Death Eater's grey eyes flashed an emotion that the Scottish witch had seen all those years ago when she had taught her. Pure desire.

'…and yet they're still there beneath the ice, aren't they?'

She barely even flinched when Bellatrix tilted her head to one side and caught Minerva's lips with her own with hungry intent. It was a desperate and uncontrolled move, the woman pressing her body against her prisoner's without restraint, hands reaching again under her robes. The one sided kiss lasted for several heartbeats before the Death Eater pulled away with a low, wry laugh.

'Just as cold as you were all those years ago.'

Bellatrix drew her wand out and held it level with Minerva's forehead. Those mad, mad eyes had flattened again into the emotionless chips of a woman only half-alive.

'For old times sakes, I'm going to do you a favor and not let the men have you,' she whispered, sliding the tip of her wand slowly down Minerva's face to her exposed throat. 'They'll have to be content with the Mudblood. You will only ever belong to me. Goodbye Minerva.'

To Minerva's immense surprise, there was no flash of green light. Her would-be killer suddenly fell backwards with a cry of surprise, wand flying from her hand and skittering across the floor to the opposite end of the room.

It took a moment for Minerva to digest what had happened; Hermione had suddenly appeared, fully conscious, and kicked Bellatrix's legs out from under her. The Death Eater was on her back, clutching at her head, obviously injured. Not even pausing to look at Bellatrix, the blood-soaked Hermione dove towards the dropped wand that was three paces from her, and clutching at it, rolled around to face the dark haired woman that she had just attacked. To her horror, Bellatrix was holding a new wand, pointed directly at her. Whipping her wrist, she hurled a hex at Hermione, face contorted in a mixture of surprise and rage.

* * *

'_Protego!'_

The younger woman barely managed to deflect the spell. This wand felt heavy, awkward, unfamiliar. It was nothing like her own or Minerva's. It didn't _match_. It refused to obey without great concentration and mental effort.

Snarling, the Death Eater sent another red flame at her and only with another surge of conscious exertion was she able to stop the curse from searing her to the bone.

A standoff.

It was a sudden, desperate thought that drove her to do it. It was the only way. And it would mean that Minerva would be safe.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

Minerva watched as Hermione suddenly whipped her wand arm to the right to point directly at her own tied up form, blatantly jeopardizing her own safety. A cry of half-anguish and warning ripped from her throat when she realized what Hermione was about to do.

Bellatrix's screamed spell flew out as a streak of fluorescent orange and hit the young woman in the chest at the same time as a pale green flash covered the wall to which Minerva was tied. The ropes holding the Scottish witch's wrists came apart and the freed Minerva leapt at the Death Eater in front of her, tackling the woman to the ground. Momentarily stunned, Bellatrix dropped the new wand and grabbed hold of her attacker's nearest arm, attempting to throw Minerva off her. Minerva grasped for the wand and finally wrestled her way over to it. One silent thought channeled through the wood and the Death Eater crumpled to the stone flagstones in a heap, unconscious. Minerva cast several powerful containing hexes on the Death Eater before summoning her will to call their one chance of salvation from this hell hole.

_Expecto Patronum._

In a flurry of shining silver, a luminescent owl burst from the tip of her wand and vanished though the wall with a flash. The Auror Office would recognize it as hers, but they wouldn't arrive for another ten minutes at least.

A wheezing gasp made Minerva whirl away from the wall that her summoned apparition had just vanished through to face her rescuer. Hermione had both of her arms wrapped around her chest, stooped down and obviously in great pain. Surprised eyes met Minerva's for the briefest moment, her mouth open and gasping vainly for air. Still clutching at her ribs, the young woman's legs buckled from under her and she sank to the floor, limp as a rag doll.

'_NO!'_

With a desperate cry, Minerva pushed herself to her feet and flung herself towards Hermione's suddenly motionless form. Falling down next to the woman, she rolled her onto her back with one quick motion and felt her cheek with a palm. Her former student was as still as death. With a hand supporting her limp neck, Minerva held her wand point at Hermione's forehead and said the incantation firmly,

'Enervate!'

The young woman did not stir.

'Enervate…_Enervate!'_

Again, no sign that the spell had had any effect, not even the faintest flutter of long eyelashes. Heart racing, Minerva tore the front of Hermione's bloodstained robes open with her hands and laid a shaking palm over her bared ribcage. There was no movement at all, no breath, no sign of life. The skin was strangely cold for one that had been breathing only moments before, chilling ever compared to the damp air in the room. Fear rising in her throat, Minerva rested her fingers against the woman's neck under her jaw line.

No pulse.

'Oh Gods, Hermione, don't do this to me.'

Drawing on experience almost forgotten, Minerva placed her left hand on Hermione's chest, palm down, and covered it with her right. Locking her elbows, she directed all of her body weight onto the woman's sternum and began the sequence. The cold, clinical voice echoed in her head from her Auror training decades ago.

_Two compressions every second for seven seconds. _

Minerva quickly removed her hands from her pupil's chest and gently tilted Hermione's head, lifting the woman's chin so that her airway was opened. Covering Hermione's nostrils with her left hand, she sealed the young woman's mouth her own and exhaled.

_Two breaths. Check to make sure the lungs are expanding after each exhalation. _

Crimson froth bubbled from Hermione's mouth as the cycling air became trapped in the blood that had been spilt minutes earlier. Fingers scrambling to find the spot on Hermione's neck, Minerva tried to control her own harsh breathing so that she'd be able to detect any sign of life.

_Feel for pulse._

Nothing. No beat of life. No surge of life-blood. Only silence.

_Repeat steps from the beginning._

Like a woman possessed, she placed the heels of her hands on Hermione's chest and began the sequence again.

_Continue lifesaving efforts until help arrives._

It was after the fourth round of the cycle that Minerva began to realize that she was weakening. Her breathing had become ragged and her own chest was heaving from emotion and exhaustion. The continued exertion couldn't be kept up forever.

_Hermione Granger. The one student in her teaching career with which she had been truly able to identify with. The only one who she had trusted enough to let her inner self surface. The only one she had ever felt…_

Tears began to run down her face. She didn't even pause to wipe them away. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand...she mustn't lose count.

She could never lose count.

_I've lost too many to this war. Albus. Countless students. More than three quarters of the Order. Faceless people that I've never even met. I'm not going to lose you too._

Head tilt. Chin lift. One slow breath. Pause. Check for respiration. Second slow breath.

_Please don't leave me alone in the dark, Hermione. _

Check for pulse.

_If I'm alone again I'll never survive._

_One…two…three…four…five…_

Minerva's own heart almost stopped when she felt it. There it was; the faintest of beats felt by the very tips of her long fingers. Suppressing a cry of joy, she bent her head next to Hermione's mouth and looked down at her ribcage sideways. The slight rise and fall of the young woman's chest was barely detectable but she was breathing. _Hermione was alive._

Looking around frantically for something to enchant, Minerva spotted one of the pieces of cord that had been used to tie her to the wall only minutes earlier. Grabbing it, she gripped her wand more tightly than necessary and murmured,

'_Portus.'_

The short length of rope shone incandescent blue for a brief second before returning to its regular colouration. Quickly tying it around Hermione's wrist, Minerva slid back away from the young woman and watched as she winked out of sight to St. Mungo's.

* * *

_She is safe._

One glance at the subdued and unconscious Bellatrix Lestrange in the corner told Minerva that her protective wards were holding. Summoning her own and Hermione's wand from the woman's robes, she pocketed the Death Eater's wand and carefully placed Hermione's wand up her right sleeve.

A quickly cast mapping spell told her all she needed to know. She couldn't wait for the Ministry, too much was at risk. And she had a plan.

Minerva transfigured her robes to match the ones that Bellatrix was wearing and, pulling the pins from her bun, shook out her hair so that it fell over her shoulders in a long sheet of darkness, slight waves catching some of the faint light in the room. Her disguise complete, she began casting a number of complex sleep and containment spells around the room and corridor. All would be triggered by one wearing the Dark Mark.

With one last look at the inert form lying in the corner of the room, Minerva drew up the hood of her newly changed robes so that her eyes were shadowed and opened the door. Below her feet, a set of stairs leading down in a spiral to darkness. She began her descent, one hand hidden in her pocket, tightly gripping Bellatrix's wand.

After traveling downwards for a minute, the faint sound of male voices could be heard.

Very carefully, Minerva leant around the final bend of the staircase and quickly scanned the room that it lead into. It was slightly larger than the classroom that she normally taught in at Hogwarts and, apart from the door directly across from the stairs that she was standing on, had no openings from which the Death Eaters might escape. At the center of the room was a wooden table with the remaining members of Voldemort's force in Britain. Playing cards. Rodolfus Lestrange was sitting with his back to the stairs. His younger brother, Rastaban, was at the far end of the table. Also seated were Amycus Flint, Nicolius Rosier and Thomas Nott along with two Death Eaters that she didn't know. Seven men in total, all armed with wands.

Summoning every last bit of courage that she possessed, Minerva walked down the last few steps and into the room with a silent prayer. The wizards looked up at her arrival expectantly and she was suddenly reminded of the sensation of walking into a classroom full of students. It was the same feeling of complete and utter control. This familiar feeling erased all remaining fear from her being.

'Flint, Rosier, Nott.'

Her imitation of Bellatrix's voice, pitched several tones above Minerva's natural one, was flawless. The three men jumped up from their chairs and practically scrambled over one another to obey her.

'Upstairs. _Now._'

The Death Eaters rushed up the stairs and out of view, each one eager to reach the cell before the other two.

Rodolfus Lestrange had begun to gather up the cards from the now unoccupied seats. Rastaban looked worried, glancing out at Minerva from the corner of his eye, never directly meeting her gaze. The two unknown men were looking past her at the stairs, obviously envious of their fellows.

'On second thoughts, you three can join them. There are _two_ woman after all.'

The others quickly departed the room via the spiral staircase. Leaving Rodolfus and Minerva alone. The Death Eater spoke after a few moments, voice dripping with self-assurance and amusement.

'That was short…I take it that your dear professor didn't take kindly to your attempts at seduction?

Minerva didn't answer and began to move towards the table. A cold fury had enveloped her. This man had been responsible to the terror of the last seven days and the death of an Order member. She resisted the urge to stun him right there and then; but it was too soon and she couldn't risk the other men hearing her.

'Six of them for two? She must have spat in your face.'

She was now directly behind him. Rodolfus tossed the stack of cards on the table and moved to get up, swinging his legs out from under his chair with haughty swagger.

'I'll have to go up and show them how it's really done. That Jones woman wasn't even alive and she still provided hours of amusement.'

Minerva waited until the Death Eater had turned around and met her eyes in surprised recognition before she let a stream of red light from her drawn wand as a reply.

* * *

'Minerva!'

Pulling the hood of the Death Eater cloak off her head and down to her shoulders, the dark-haired woman turned around to face the crowd of Ministry Aurors and officials that had just come down the stairs. All of the wizards and witches looked slightly flabbergasted.

'We got them,' said the closest Auror, a stocky man that she had taught twenty years previously, 'All six as they came up the stairs. I had them taken to London along with Bellatrix Lestrange.'

None of that mattered to Minerva. Not anymore.

'Where's Hermione?'

'The Healers are treating her now. She's safe.'

Minerva leant back on the now empty table, utter relief sweeping over her.

It was finally over.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: I have cousins from Europe staying with me at the moment, so my writing time has been non-existent (we've been all around sight-seeing). Of course, I realize that you're all very patient people so I knew you wouldn't mind waiting a while for an update. _

_Small joke. I'm surprised none of you have sent me trojans or viruses as thanks for my sporadic updates._

_One more chapter after this one. _

* * *

Minerva McGonagall disliked St. Mungo's with a passion that was otherwise solely reserved for the former employee of the Ministry of Magic and present occupant of a quaint little cell in Azkaban; Dolores Umbridge,. She had spent, in her mind, a great deal of her life in the somber six-story building and could have been trapped inside its walls even longer had she not been so good at intimidating or in some cases, cursing the care-takers that refused to listen to her claims of perfect health and fitness. Yes, it was true that many of her friends and colleagues had worked there at one time or another but to her, anything remotely connected to the hospital was something to be fervently avoided.

It would have taken more than magic to tear her away from the hospital now.

Like many of the rooms in the hospital, the ward that Hermione in was a decorated in a pale cream with green accents. It was a private ward, a rarity in the otherwise overcrowded hospital, and about the size of Minerva's old office at Hogwarts – six paces by four across. A tall window across from the bed with long cream drapes drawn let light into the room which was otherwise dark. Minerva had created the wooden chair on which she was presently sitting, drawn up to beside the bed in which Hermione was fast asleep. Minerva had barely moved from that spot for almost forty five hours.

The bruising was still visible across the young woman's face and nose and the skin under both of her eyes was a purplish-black. Poppy Pomfrey, who upon learning about their presence in the hospital had immediately taken charge of their care, had decided that mixing the potion for Hermione's heart rate with anything else was too risky. She'd only allowed herself to carefully set the young woman's nose before rushing off to take care of another desperately injured patient.

Minerva could not keep her eyes away from the methodical rise and fall of Hermione's chest. It was reassuring; visible proof that her former student was indeed still breathing and not in that state of terrible stillness that she had been only a day before. Hermione was _alive_.

The dark-haired witch hadn't dared to fall asleep lest she wake up from this dream-like state that she was in.

And relive the nightmare.

The image of Hermione being hit would haunt Minerva for the rest of her life. She knew that the moment that she closed her eyes she would descend into that horrible hell where all the memories of her past would prevent her from resting soundly. She had, like many other veterans of the wars, grown accustomed to her perpetual insomnia but it didn't make it any more bearable. Students had always marveled at her ability to hand back a class set of four-foot-long essays only a day after they had been handed in.

Marking, Minerva had found, drove the night terrors away.

'_Water?'_

The voice was a breathy whisper that startled her out of her reverie. Heart racing, Minerva summoned a glass out of the air and, supporting the young woman's head with one hand, gently tilted some water past Hermione's dry lips. Swallowing with a grimace, eyes still closed, Hermione drifted back off to sleep without another word.

The Scottish witch moved to withdraw her hand from Hermione's neck but instead found herself lightly stroking the skin that lay there, kneading it gently in circles. Soft hairs, warmed by body heat, slowly entangled in Minerva's fingers.

She looked so young like this. So vulnerable.

_Oh why couldn't you have been sorted into Ravenclaw? You would have been so much safer there._

A question with an obvious answer and terrifyingly recent example of why the Sorting hat placed her in Gryffindor. Her protégé had allowed herself to be hit so that Minerva would have a chance to save herself. Selfless bravery was inherent to Hermione's character. Minerva let her hand travel upwards to stroke a pale cheek with her thumb, carefully avoiding the bruised portion.

_Would you have done any different had you been in her place?_

Yet another rhetorical question. It didn't make the guilt go away. Minerva would far rather have been lying there in Hermione's place than anxiously waiting for her to wake up.

Bellatrix had _known_. That knowledge was equitable with the horror of the deathly pale and still form that had lain on the ground as Minerva desperately tried to pour life into her. Shame swept through her being. Here she was at the other side of the board and again, like before, at a complete loss for words. Just as unprepared as she had been that fateful evening thirty-seven years ago.

What would she tell Hermione? The truth? Did she even know what that was anymore?

* * *

Her body ached. Sunlight filtering in through a crack in the drapes made her squint and weakly raise a hand to shield her eyes.

'Good morning Miss Granger, so good of you to join the world of the living.'

Hazel eyes flickered her way.

'You haven't called me that for years,' Hermione said softly.

Minerva reached out touch the hand closest to her, entwining Hermione's fingers with her own.

'I felt it appropriate.'

The woman's voice was low and warm. Hermione felt a shiver run through her body like an electric surge as she searched Minerva's face for any sign of injury or external pain. The straight nose and delicately formed lips showed no damage, and it was the same with the high cheekbones and defined jaw. Those dark eyes, on the other hand, held more than mere traces of hidden fear and doubt. Questions raced to the surface of Hermione's mind, but she held the tide back. There would be time for those later.

Silence stretched. Only eye contact connected them, communicating more than a thousand words ever could. Relief. Gratitude. Another emotion that neither woman would ever admit to.

_Even now, seeing her alive and safe, you're unable to tell her. _

Hermione finally broke the silence.

'How long have I been out?'

'You arrived two days ago'. Minerva released her former student's hand and leant back on her chair. 'Poppy Pomfrey has been treating you since you arrived.'

The witch's movement into the light had illuminated her face and the shadows underneath her dark eyes. The young woman's eyes narrowed.

'When did you last sleep?'

Minerva paused to think briefly before answering, '59 hours ago.'

Hermione's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to admonish her mentor for her seeming lack of personal care. The Scottish witch cut her off with a look.

'Now that you're awake, I must to go to the Ministry. They'll need to know more than what I told them when they rescued us. I refused to see them until you were conscious and articulate.'

And with this, Minerva got up and, after kissing Hermione gently on the forehead, walked out the door without a backwards glance.

* * *

Minerva ignored the scandalized look and incredulous protest from the male receptionist as she strode past him and into the large office without a word. She was far too tired to observe social niceties, even when it concerned the Minister for Magic.

'Minerva! How lovely to see you, Shacklebolt said you'd surfaced again.'

'Aramus.'

She had been three years below Aramus Bones at school, a clever man even by Ravenclaw standards and remarkably good at separating the important from the irrelevant. He had replaced Rufus Scrimgeour when the former Minister had been killed a year previously after a particularly bloody battle with the Death Bones family had been especially hard hit over the course of two wars and it was a credit to Aramus that he hadn't given into despair when his son, daughter-in-law and their children had been murdered during the first war against Voldemort and his eldest daughter Amelia Bones killed in the second. The grey-haired man looked more cheerful than she'd seen him look in decades.

'Wizangamot wants to award you an Order of Merlin – first class,' he said, smiling at her. 'I just signed the permission form for it.'

Minerva raised an eyebrow at the parchment that he held up to her, the dark red wax of the newly-created seal winking in the light. Awards were, as Albus had once told her, only good for collecting dust in glass cases and impressing the impressionable. Aramus guessed her train of thought and laughed softly, placing the page that he had signed and sealed back on one side of the desk with a stack of other forms.

'I'll tell them to keep the ceremony short. You _will_ accept that award or I'll have the Aurors arrest you and we'll do it the hard way. The people need a public display right now, we haven't had this much to cheer about for years.'

'I've resigned myself to the fact that I have no say in the matter, then.' came the dry reply from the Scottish witch.

'My dear Minerva, magical travel is safe in Britain again because of you. The Death Eater threat has been extinguished because of you. Both the wizarding and muggle communities don't need to fear for their lives every minute of every day because of you. Do you have any idea how much you've _achieved_?

The dark-haired woman dropped her gaze to the maroon carpet.

'I've had constant owls asking that you replace me as Minister of Magic. Interested?'

'My sanity is still quite intact, Aramus, despite my recent ordeal.'

Aramus put his hands up defensively and wisely changed the subject to a more pertinent matter.

'What was that spell that you used on Colm McInnis? The man was playing with building blocks when I went to visit him. The Healers couldn't make head or tale of it, they said that it was as if he's a toddler in his mind. '

Minerva frowned. 'Hermione must have cast a Parvulus spell when they captured her. It's a temporary curse but it reduces the targets metal capabilities to that of a child, very useful in a fight when your opponent is intent on killing you. It should wear off in about a week or so.'

The Minister looked rather disappointed to hear that the Death Eater would make a full recovery. The dark-haired witch took advantage of this break in their conversation to expand on the reason for her presence in his office. It was no small request and she was unsure how the man would react. Voldemort, although in a much weakened state, was still at large despite the eradication of the Death Eater threat.

'I'll be re-opening Hogwarts now, pending your approval,' she said quietly.

'Naturally.' The Minister smiled faintly at her, erasing any fear that she'd had about a possible refusal. 'I've already signed the form. It's what the wizarding community needs, isn't it?'

Minerva returned his smile with one of her own.

* * *

Minerva stifled a yawn as she walked down the corridor to Hermione's ward. She was loath to admit it, but sleep sounded very appealing at that moment. She had just spent almost three hours answering the same questions over and over again for the Aurors and various officials. Absurd and pointless questions. Minerva had toyed with the idea at her questioners reactions if she had keeled over during their meeting but finally decided against it as word might get back to the hospital and worry Hermione. And it would have been a childish selfishness on her part. Just because she hadn't slept in over sixty hours was no reason to start fainting in the middle of a Ministry investigation.

With a soft sigh, she turned the corner and walked through the archway into the wing Hermione's ward. Another ten steps brought her to the wooden door which had been left partially ajar. Frowning, Minerva entered the room, hand dropping instinctively to her hidden wand. Thankfully, nothing was amiss. Her former student was lying on the bed, picking at the starched sheets on her bed with her fingers and obviously in a state of extreme boredom. A blond man in his late twenties was writing down what was presumably information about Hermione's state of health on a piece of parchment. Hermione's bruised face brightened considerably when the dark-haired witch walked into the room.

'You just missed Madam Pomfrey, she's just gone to get some potions.'

The Healer beside the bed had turned a very pale shade that matched the cream-coloured window drapes when he saw Hermione's visitor.

'Oh Merlin…_you_ again,' he managed to choke out

The younger woman looked back and forth between the wide-eyed Healer and Minerva with raised eyebrows, a questioning look on her face.

'I take it you've been here several times before?'

'Frequently.'

Minerva had sat down in the wooden chair beside the bed and was now frowning at the young man, trying to place him from her memory. She smiled slightly when she finally remembered when they had last met and under what circumstances. Well. He certainly did have every reason to look as terrified as he did at that moment.

The hapless Healer had slowly edged his way over to the door as soon as the dark-haired witch had walked into the ward. His wooden clipboard was shaking visible in his hands and Hermione began to wonder exactly what Minerva had done to him on her last visit. Her attention was diverted when a harassed looking Poppy Pomfrey swept into the room carrying two small flasks of faintly florescent green fluid on a tray.

Minerva got out of her chair immediately, robes swirling around her legs with the movement.

'Hermione...?'

'…Claims that she's completely healthy and ready to leave when she's only a few heartbeats away from fainting again,' came the clipped reply as the former matron of Hogwarts set her tray on the short beside table and thrust one of the glass vials into Hermione's hand. 'She's almost as bad as you are, Minerva.'

'Don't I know it,' muttered Hermione under her breath, remembering the sheer frustration at Minerva's lack of co-operation the previous week, and ignoring the reproachful look that herd dark-haired mentor shot her. She nearly spat out the potion once it hit her taste buds; the stuff tasted like rancid pumpkin juice.

The reappearance of Madam Pomfrey gave the blond Healer a welcome excuse to leave. With one last terrified glance at Minerva, the green-robed wizard clutched his clipboard to his chest and fled back out into the hall. From the sound of his footsteps, he had broke out into a dead run as soon as he had left the room. Poppy turned to the Scottish woman with a reproving expression on her face.

'Minerva, you _really_ shouldn't scare our exchange students like that. They're very difficult to find nowadays.'

The dark-haired witch seemed slightly injured at this.

'Nonsense. The young man was here the last time I was admitted. I found him to be a very capable physician, aside from a small matter concerning bed-rest. I merely assisted him in understanding how I felt about being told to go to sleep before I wished.'

Poppy scowled. 'Oh yes, I remember hearing about that. He had nightmares for months – still talks about you when we bring up our stories of the patients we've had here. Of course, patients here don't normally change our Healers into two-year-old versions of themselves and force them into a crib complete with a bottle.'

The former Transfigurations Professor of Hogwarts had the decency to look faintly embarrassed. The Chief Healer turned back to Hermione and handed her the other cork-stoppered glass. Hermione grimaced as she downed the second batch of potion, wrinkling her nose in a vain attempt eliminate any aftertaste. It had very little effect, the urge to vomit was, if anything, even stronger than before. Why the potion-makers couldn't add a few minor ingredients to improve the taste was beyond her.

Folding her arms in front of her chest like armor, Minerva turned back to her colleague of old, back straight and chin lifted in defiance.

'We're going back to my house tomorrow, no ifs, ands or buts.'

'Good.'

Minerva raised a dark eyebrow.

'No protests? No threats to tie me to the bed? Dire warnings about the impact of such a rash action upon my health?'

'None.'

Up went the other eyebrow to join its partner.

'Good heavens, Poppy,' Minerva said, dropping her arms back down to her sides and clearly surprised beyond measure at the matron's lack of complaint. 'Whatever's happened to you?'

'Sensibility,' the Chief Healer of St. Mungo's answered succinctly. 'You ruin moral when you're here as a patient, Minerva, not to mention scaring my Healers stiff whenever you so much as look at them sideways.'

A hair-raising scream from the hallway interrupted her.

'Idiots,' said Poppy with a scowl, 'They've left Ward Five's door open again.'

The former nurse of Hogwarts headed towards the door, pausing only to pick up the tray and empty bottles and throw a parting warning over her shoulder.

'Don't let her out of that bed until tomorrow morning, Minerva. If you do I _will_ make sure that you stay in this ward yourself for a fortnight. And I'll confiscate your wand for good measure, too.'

Another desperate yell was heard from Ward Five, this time sounding suspiciously like the blond Healer with the clipboard. Grumbling under her breath about incompetent assistants, Poppy marched out the door and down the hall.

The door swung shut and cut off the room from the rest of the world. They were alone again.

You could have heard a pin drop.

Minerva slowly walked over to the window to stare out at the city landscape. She had been watching the passers-by for only a moment before a soft voice from the bed drew her back into the present.

'How are you feeling?'

A question with many levels of meaning. Minerva choose to answer the most obvious, not being ready to explore the deeper possibilities.

'I'm fine. Poppy says that my fever was cured by a Heal All potion, which also took care of my ribs. The Death Eaters do like to have their prisoners at full health before they play with them.'

Hermione's eyebrows contracted for the briefest of moments. Minerva regarded her for a minute before adding,

'What Bellatrix did to me was not lasting, if that's what you had wanted to ask,' she said, gently.

The younger woman flushed scarlet and Minerva knew that she had guessed correctly. Seeing that her protégé wasn't going to speak anytime soon, the Scottish woman turned back to the pane of glass, an internal battle going on inside her head. Hermione deserved to know more about what had happened that night, she reasoned, seeing as how her former pupil had been in the midst of it. And it was time that she told someone other than Albus. She let out a shaky breath and, hands folded behind her back, began.

'Bellatrix Lestrange or as I knew her, Bellatrix Black, attended Hogwarts almost 40 years ago. She was a brilliant student and the pride of the school, even becoming Head Girl in her Seventh year.' Minerva paused to look over at Hermione. 'Sound familiar?'

Hermione nodded, utterly perplexed.

'I had a strange relationship with Miss Black. Many of the students, and several staff members too, were convinced that we were closely related. There were even whispers that I was her mother, given the apparent familial resemblance, ignoring of course the fact that her relationship to her parents was well documented and I have never given birth.'

'In her seventh year, Bellatrix began to experience…disciplinary difficulties…with me. She refused to behave in my class, the only student with which I have ever had a serious problem with. She was by far the most intelligent in her year, but she stopped handing in assignments, purposely failed her tests and would frequently argue with what I was teaching during a lesson, citing it as incorrect or outdated. It was only later that I worked out what she was doing. Teenagers, when they are attempting to gain a certain person's attention, achieve their goal through two ways; impressing the person or aggravating them.

It was here that Minerva stopped for close to a minute. Hermione began to wonder whether the woman was finished but before she could ask, the witch continued.

'You must realize,' Minerva grasped for words, attempting to convey what she felt she _had_ to say. 'Teachers occasionally encounter students who are…interested…in pursuing relationships with them.

Hermione felt her heart stop dead.

'Bellatrix wanted…?'

The dark-haired woman reddened and looked away.

'Yes,' Minerva said softly.

Hermione felt a gaping hole open up in her chest as all the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. So. That was it. Minerva _had_ noticed and was trying to find a polite way of telling her that there was no hope in hell. Hermione suddenly felt worse than she had in that horrible room several nights previously.

'And what…and how did you explain that you…' Hermione stumbled through her question, determined to open up an awkward silence that had descended upon the now uncomfortably warm room.

'Explain?' The dark haired woman brought up a hand to cover her eyes. 'What does a teacher do when a student that they have taught for years asks them for something like _that_? You begin to wonder where you went wrong, had you _really_ given them hope of such a relationship? I have always maintained a distance from my students, professional and emotional. As a teacher and adult, you can't risk getting caught up in the affairs of adolescents, you can't risk becoming attached. Students are generally unable to see past the obvious, they selectively ignore a person's flaws, idealizing them into a perfect image. It makes them susceptible to romantic error.'

Minerva turned back to face Hermione, leaning back against the wall. She suddenly looked far older than she ever had before and her voice sounded weary.

'Bellatrix confronted me in my office the day before she was going to graduate. She begged me to _accept_ her, she claimed that she knew that her feelings of desire were mutual. All I could think of was where I had gone wrong, where I had erred.'

'I fled to Albus as soon as I'd sent her out and told him everything. He assured me that I'd done the right thing but I still worried. What if Bellatrix told her family that I'd 'molested' her? What if she went to the Ministry? Even if I was able to prove my innocence it would still ruin my career. I needn't have worried, Bellatrix was never the sort of woman to bring things out into the open when they could be hidden and fester in the darkness.

'The next time I saw her five years had passed and she was married to Lestrange. Several years later I fought against her in the first war against Voldemort. Her face may have been covered but I had taught her and I _knew_ who I was fighting against. And then, just two days ago, after I'd thought that it would never come back to haunt me, she turned up again in my life and brought back a nightmare which I thought I had buried forever. And she blamed me for what she'd turned into. And that was what hurt most of all.'

Guilt dripped from those last words. Minerva's head dropped and she stared past at the floor under her feet, going through the motions of self-blame. Hermione almost threw all pretense away and confessed everything to the dark-haired woman. Instead she collected herself and turned to a slightly different line of questioning, one which had been bothering her ever since she'd woken. There would be time to explore the other subject at another time.

'Why didn't she use the Killing Curse?'

Minerva looked over at her, eyes unreadable in the half-shadowed corner that she was standing in.

'She couldn't use Avada Kadavra because of the wand she was using,' she said quietly. 'Stopping your heart was the worst she could do. And it was almost as effective as the Killing Curse.'

For clarification, she drew out the familiar thin stick from the pocket of her robes. Hermione recalled only bits and pieces of her attack but suddenly recognized the dark piece of wood as being the one that had been pointed at her before she blacked out. Bellatrix had apparently grabbed Minerva's wand when Hermione had knocked her own out of her hands. The young woman clearly remembered the trouble she'd had even casting simple shielding spells with Bellatrix's. Unlike her experience a week ago using the one that was presently in her former teacher's hand, the wand's desires – if that was the correct word – hadn't matched her own. And now she realized that Bellatrix had had the exact same problem with Minerva's wand. She was surprised that she hadn't realized it before.

'My mother's,' Minerva held up the ebony wand to the light streaming in from the closed window beside the bed. 'My father kept it safe until I received my letter from Hogwarts.'

Hermione watched as the sunlight danced across the dark wood that Minerva twirled slowly in her fingers. The polished surface scattered reflections of light across the pale walls of the ward room, rippling as water might in a faint breeze. The older witch had a far-off look on her face, obviously deep in contemplation.

'She was very beautiful.'

Hermione's voice was soft and tentative. The dark-haired woman turned towards her, surprised.

'How...'

'I found your photo album when you were sleeping that last day,' she elaborated, blushing slightly. 'It had several pages of your parents in it.'

An expression of great pain appeared on Minerva's face and Hermione immediately regretted bring up the subject. Her former teacher turned back to the window, ducking her head. She finally collected herself and looked back at Hermione, dark eyes haunted.

'My father adored my mother and she loved him just as much. They had been married for only two years when I was born. It was a difficult birth and she died several weeks afterwards. My father almost went mad with grief.'

The Scottish witch was leaning against the frame of the tall window for support, staring at the wand in her hands in what could only be describe as confusion.

'The fact that I had been the main factor in her death was too much for him to bear. He threw out anything connecting my mother and myself, including ripping out the pages of me in her arms from the photo album. My father locked himself in his office and worked for twenty hours straight every day for several months, leaving my care to the family house-elf. It was only when his closest friend threatened to take me away that he relented and began to care for his daughter as his wife would have wished.'

'Albus'.

There was no question, Hermione simply knew. Minerva nodded once.

'Albus Dumbledore. He persuaded my father that life was still worth living when those that you love most leave you forever.'

Again, the awkward silence stretched. Minerva gazed at her wand one last time and pocketed it within her long robes, turning away from Hermione and folding her arms in front of her, clutching her chest as if she had suddenly taken a chill. The sun had passed behind a low-lying cloud and the light in the room had dimmed. The tall woman's form was cast in degrees of shadow.

'You saved my life again.'

The voice was unexpected and barely audible. The younger woman looked away from her former teacher.

'And you saved mine,' Hermione replied, not sure really what to say, what she was _supposed_ to say to this. 'And captured eight Death Eaters too.'

'Hermione.'

She looked back up at Minerva. The dark-haired witch had turned around and was staring at her with an expression of utter defeat on her face. It was one of the most frightening things Hermione had ever witnessed; she had never seen Minerva like this. Sadness and grief, yes…_but_ _despair_?

'I nearly lost you,' Minerva said matter-of-factly. 'Another five minutes and I would have been unable to continue. I watched you _die_, Hermione. You were on the brink of a precipice that I had seen so many others disappear off of – into the darkness and away from all that I know. I felt so utterly alone.'

She looked even more vulnerable as she continued on. Hermione wanted to cover her ears, she didn't want to hear this from this eternally composed woman. Minerva's inner strength had been as constant as the earthbound laws; static and never changing. To see it falling apart before her very eyes was too shocking, even after all that had transpired during the previous week.

'There I was, trying desperately to get your heart to start beating again and all I could think about was what life would be like without your presence, your warmth.' Minerva's voice was scarcely a whisper. 'You truly don't realize how rare you are, Hermione. You _care_ about everyone; you can never refuse someone who you feel is at a disadvantage – you feel obliged to help them, even at a cost to yourself. And because of this altruistic behaviour, I had to watch as the one person that I care most about in this world threw her life into the hands of fate just so I would have a chance at survival.'

The Scottish witch had finally become aware of the tears running down her pale face and she turned around to face the window again in order to hide them, dark green robes rippling slightly.

Hermione had had enough. Ignoring Poppy Pomfrey's warnings about not leaving her bed and ignoring the pain that shot through her body whenever she moved, she pushed herself awkwardly out of the bed and limped quietly over to where the tall witch was standing. Hermione placed a gentle hand on Minerva's back, lightly caressing her skin through the fabric. The witch didn't turn, instead bringing her hands up to cover her face. Small tremors shook her slight frame, shivering with constrained emotion. The younger woman gently ran her palm in slow circles over Minerva's tense shoulders. Soothing.

'And how is that any different from what you do?' Hermione gazed at her mentor's bowed head wonderingly, unable to understand how such an intelligent woman could be so obtuse. 'Can you really be so _blind_? You may put out an unemotional face to the world but I know that the other part of you surfaces at times, though you hide it flawlessly. You have countless scars – physical and emotion – from when you intervened to save another from persecution or harm. _I follow your example_, Minerva.'

Dropping her hand to one of the woman's sleeved arms, she slowly drew Minerva back around to look at her. The older witch's eyes were shining with new tears that she had refused to let fall.

'I follow your example because you mean more to me than life itself,' Hermione repeated softly.

It was so sudden that Hermione was caught off guard. In a blink of an eye, Minerva had caught her up in her arms and was hugging her with an almost painful strength. Hermione returned the embrace with the same fervor, wrapping her own arms around Minerva's slim waist, reassuring herself that the woman was truly there.

Sunlight bathed them in a pale warmth.

Minerva leant down slightly and touched her forehead to Hermione's.

'Please tell me before you try to sacrifice yourself to save my life again, will you? You scared me to death.'

Hermione's only response was to hold her closer.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: Well. We're finally at the end of this fic. More discourse at the bottom in relation to future stories. _

_I'm fully guilt-ridden for the delay. To appease you, this chapter is longer than any of the others. _

* * *

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of fragrant pine, reveling in the fresh wilderness air and accompanying solitude of the Manor's grounds. A slight breeze swept down from the blue hills surrounding the valley and made the tree tops sway in a natural rhythm. Bright bird song drifted from the dark cover of the forest. The atmosphere here was far removed from the sterile wards of St. Mungo's or the smog-choked streets of London.

And _much_ more peaceful.

The morning had opened with their appearance in a large ballroom at the Ministry and, surrounded by officials, dignitaries and the wizarding public in their formal dress robes, participating in a ceremony to honor their 'considerable contribution to the extinction of the Death Eater threat in Britain'. After receiving Orders of Merlin – First Class for Minerva and Second for Hermione – the two witches had braced themselves for the inevitable sermons that were all but expected at these functions; praising their bravery and fortitude in the face of certain death and dismemberment. To their surprise, the awards ceremony had been brief, with only a bare minimum of blustering speeches of accolade from Wizengamot members. When Hermione had wondered about this unnatural succinctness out loud to Minerva, the elegant woman had smiled darkly and inclined her head towards the Minister of Magic, who was standing on the other side of the room talking animatedly to several foreign dignitaries.

'Aramus, in his infinite wisdom, realized that the 'guest of honor' wouldn't show up if there was any sign that it would last longer than was _absolutely_ necessary. Clever man.'

A pair of wizards from the Daily Prophet had intervened at that precise moment to take pictures of the heroes of the day, but the reporters quickly left again when Minerva explained in no uncertain terms that the next person to take her picture would be spending the next month as a garden snail.

Hermione's bruises had quickly faded away thanks to the hospital's healing potions and aside from a generalized ache throughout her body, which according to Madam Pomfrey, would fade over the next few days, Hermione felt far better than she had. Physically and emotionally. Their quickly arranged reunion with the Order members had been short-lived, but fulfilling. Nymphadora Tonks had fully recovered; the poison flushed from her system, and she and the rest of the Order had never stopped heaping praise onto the two women, even after Minerva threatened them. Remus Lupin had been looking oddly smug about something through the latter half of their visit and his eyes had twinkled in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore's as he looked from Minerva to Hermione and back again before leaving with the parting words,

'I'm sure your ordeal has given you both a stronger appreciation of the depth of the other's character.'

With this enigmatic sentence, he had been pushed out the ward's door by an impatient Tonks, leaving a pair of very confused-looking women in their wake.

Madam Pomfrey had drawn Hermione aside before she had been discharged from Mungos and begged her to find _some _way to get Minerva to sleep.

'Whatever you do, don't try and use magic. It only results in a temper tantrum and Minerva's very inventive with her jinxes when she's ticked off.'

Hermione assured her that she had no intention of doing such an inane thing and promised to do her best to make Minerva take some form of rest once they arrived.

'Hermione?'

The young woman blinked, called back from her recollection to the present, and turned towards the source of the voice. Minerva was standing expectantly on the stone steps that led up to the open double doors of the manor's front entrance, her long robes fanning slightly in the breeze. Smiling shyly, Hermione walked the short distance up the gravel path and through the doors into the cool interior.

* * *

Minerva had taken it upon herself to rectify Hermione's lack of skill in the kitchen, an afternoon endeavor which had resulted in several burnt fingers, a pot of overcooked vegetables and one passable roast. Hermione had looked so pleased at actually having cooked a decent meal that Minerva didn't have the heart to tell her pupil that she had switched the badly scalded vegetables with another batch that she had secretly cooked before dinner. It wouldn't do to risk food poisoning (although, Minerva admitted to herself, such a thing was unlikely from _overcooked_ food) and be forced to return to that godforsaken building that the Ministry had recklessly labeled a hospital.

It occurred to Minerva that most of Hermione's difficulties stemmed from the actual act of _cooking _food and, if given a recipe for a meal without any stove usage, it was entirely possible that the young witch would produce an edible meal. She'd resolved to test her hypothesis tomorrow, beginning with salad and desserts.

If they survived the roast that Hermione was presently carving.

'Hermione?'

The brunette looked up at her expectantly, a carving knife in her right hand and a serving fork in her left.

'Did we remember to turn the stove off?'

Hermione stared at her mentor for a full five seconds before dropping the carving tools and rushing to the kitchen, nearly colliding with the doorframe on her way in. The older woman took this opportunity to cast a spell that checked for food poisoning. Thankfully, the meat turned up negative, and by the time Hermione had come back to tell her that, yes the stove had been switched off when they had taken the roast out of the oven, Minerva was innocently dividing the vegetables between their plates.

As it turned out, the meat was excellent. Minerva was pleasantly surprised, and realized that her theory might need to be revised to include oven-recipes under Hermione's 'Some Faint Hope of Learning to Prepare a Meal Using…' list.

She considered her pupil, who was sitting quietly at the opposite end of the table eating her meal slowly. Apart from a persistent pallor to her skin, Hermione's health had improved immensely over the course of only a few days, Madame Pomfrey outdoing herself with the treatment. The girl's heart was, she had been told, not to be tested. No magic use beyond the necessary.

'You were talking briefly with the Minister at the awards ceremony before we left, was it anything serious?

Ah. Minerva had been wondering how to broach this topic. Carefully pushing her empty plate to one side of the table, she clasped her hands in front of her and leant her weight forward onto her elbows.

'Aramus gave me the required forms for re-opening Hogwarts this morning, after speaking to the Board of Governors. I was wondering whether you were interested in filling one of the teaching positions.'

Hermione stared at her, fork mid-way to her mouth, frozen in a state of utter disbelief.

'You're serious,' she finally managed to choke out.

'Very.'

The fork slowly descended back down to rest on the table and Hermione leant back in her chair, looking stunned.

'You don't need to answer immediately,' Minerva continued, trying to keep the disappointment in her voice hidden. 'We're still a month away from the beginning of the term and I'll begin interviews next week after owling the former professors. I'll understand perfectly if you don't want to apply for…'

'Yes.'

The Scottish witch looked back up at her former student. Hermione's hazel eyes were shining, any trace of tiredness or hurt had been erased and been replaced by a strange joy. Pushing back the considerable wave of relief that had risen in her own chest, Minerva spoke again.

'Any particular position that you–?'

'Transfiguration.'

Hermione's voice was soft, almost shy.

'Not Cooking and Food Preparation?' Minerva teased, resting her chin on her hands, quelling the warm glow that had increased tenfold upon learning of Hermione's choice of her old subject. 'I'm sure the Governors will allow me anything now that I have an Order of Merlin, First Class, to dangle in front of their impressionable noses. Culinary classes would certainly be more useful to the students than Sybil's Divination program. I'd provide you as a case study for the fact.'

Hermione grimaced at the memory of her disastrous third year Divination experience. Minerva had provided her with a Time Turner on loan from the Ministry and the extra courses had taken a heavy toll on her tolerance levels. Sybil Trelawny had exceeded them.

'Only one thing made that class bearable.'

'And that was?'

'I had Transfiguration with you immediately afterwards.'

The Scottish woman laughed, her rich voice filling the room and rolling off the walls.

'Poor Sybil. She finally met a student who wouldn't put up with her nonsense.'

'Almost as stubborn as one of her colleagues?'

Minerva smiled at her protégé. 'Are you implying that I may have been partially to blame for your skepticism, Hermione?'

'You may have had a slight influence on me, now that I think about it.'

'Please accept my deepest apologies.'

'No need.'

After clearing away the plates, the two women withdrew to the library for a few hours to read. It was almost eleven when the Scottish witch stood up to leave.

'Goodnight, Hermione. Sleep well.'

Minerva bent down to touch her lips to the top of Hermione's head, laying her right hand on the younger woman's shoulder. The brunette closed her eyes as she felt the soft contact on her hair.

'Goodnight, Minerva.'

* * *

Hermione awoke suddenly. Not even bothering to throw on a dressing gown – there was no time – she jumped out of bed, slipping slightly on the small carpet that adorned the wooden floor, and burst through the door to the hall, off-balance and limping every other step. Only one thing could have woken her.

'_Minerva!'_

The shadowy figure in center of the hall froze mid-stride and, very slowly, turned around to face her, slim body tense. It took all Hermione's self-control not to burst out into laughter at the expression on Minerva's face. She had never seen the woman look as guilty as she did now. Her former teacher quickly regained her composure.

'Exactly how many wards _did_ you put up?' Minerva asked mildly, folding her bare arms in front of her chest and leaning back against the wood-paneled wall. 'I must have gotten rid of at least seven, including the small one that you cast on my glasses.'

'Nine. You missed the ones on the hall carpet and the first step of the stairs.' She had discretely insured before going to bed that – should her host engage in any nighttime wandering – Hermione would be the first to know about it. She _had_ promised Madame Pomfrey that she'd do her best to make Minerva rest for a few days.

'My, my, aren't we thorough. And just why would you be interested in my night-time activities?'

The younger woman smiled innocently.

'Merely a professional concern for your well-being, Minerva, and while we're on the subject, why aren't you wearing your dressing gown?'

'Some _unscrupulous _young witch put an Alarm Charm on it in what I believe was an attempt to curtail my escape from imposed bed rest that Poppy erroneously seemed to feel that I needed I was merely off to the library for some light night-time reading._'_

Hermione was unimpressed.

'You'll freeze to death.'

Minerva's right eyebrow arched up and she looked the younger woman up and down, pointedly noting her lack of over clothes.

'Hypocrite.'

Hermione bent her head to disguise the smile that sprung to her lips, pretending to examine the carpet at their feet. Unbidden, her eyes crossed the wooden floor to the other woman's bare legs. The white slip Minerva was wearing only came down to just above the knees, framing her long and slender legs to perfection. Once Hermione realized exactly _which_ region of her host's body she was looking at, she snapped her eyes back up to the safe zone of Minerva's face, justly horrified.

_Please don't let her have noticed._

It was too late. The woman had seen the direction of her gaze; Minerva's expression was clearly one of utter shock, her dark eyes wide with surprise. The atmosphere in the hall had shifted from one of light banter to something _far_ more serious. A warm flush spread over Hermione's cheeks and, in a vain attempt to regain a measure of control over the now extremely awkward situation, she hurriedly turned around and went back into her room, pausing only to whisper a soft,

'Goodnight, Minerva.'

Before Hermione could reach the door, or touch the metal handle to open the door to freedom, a slender hand had reached out and caught her wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. The younger woman froze, millions of dire thoughts flashing through her mind. Hermione's worst fears were confirmed when Minerva next spoke.

'I think we should talk, Hermione,' came the low voice from behind her.

_Oh dear God, please not that. _

Not even bothering to wait for the woman's inevitable protests, Minerva steered Hermione by the arm back into the bedroom. She motioned her pupil to sit on the large bed and, after a moments' pause, slowly sat down beside her, clearly uncomfortable with the subject that she was about to broach. Almost a minute passed before she spoke in a strangely soft voice.

'Do you know how_ old_ I am, Hermione?'

'Eight-one years, nine months and six days,' Hermione replied quietly without a moment's hesitation, staring at the wood-paneled wall, determined not to cry. After all this time, after all these years, why had she made a mistake _now_? Everything was out of her control now; every secret thought and emotion on view to the one person which she had meant to hide them from forever. It was a nightmare come to life.

Minerva raised an eyebrow in surprise but quickly recovered.

'Almost a sixty year difference,' she stated bluntly, as if this was an obvious fact.

'Might I add in my defense that you look like you're in your mid-thirties?' Hermione said bitterly. She would not cry. She would not reveal how much this conversation affected her. She could still salvage their friendship.

'You're far too kind.' This came out as a harsh laugh from Minerva.

Defiant hazel eyes met her own dark ones.

'Isn't maturity more important than age?'

The older woman didn't answer. There were a million different reasons why they shouldn't even be _discussing_ this subject, reasons why she should have simply brushed off her pupil's glance as the distracted movement of an exhausted and traumatized young woman. But Minerva couldn't. Not after everything that had gone on over the past week and a half. Those eyes, full of stubborn intellect and insatiable curiousity that was so like her own, reached into her very being and prevented her from summoning her power of speech. So Minerva remained silent, back straight and chin raised.

Against her will, Hermione began to speak, voice rough and halting. She had given up trying to pretend that this conversation was merely another one of the innocuous night-time discussions that she had had many times before with her Transfiguration professor.

'You asked me several days ago about my…reasons…for staying behind to look for you that awful night.'

Oh yes, Minerva did remember that particular talk very well. Hermione had placed her into a state of bliss at the touch of her hands, driving away the constant pain of the injury.

Hands that were now resting gently on her arm.

Minerva had forgotten the warmth that the simple act of touch summoned, the heat that was exuded from one person's flesh to another. The feeling summoned by the feather-like touch of soft skin on her own was so utterly foreign and yet, achingly fulfilling.

'I…I mislead you, saying that it was because I felt guilty for not being able to help when Umbridge attacked you.'

Hermione reached up and traced the curve of Minerva's exposed collarbone with a fingertip, her hand trembling madly all the while. Minerva's voice had become stuck in her throat, the witch would have been unable to sound a protest even had she wanted to. The younger woman's touch sent waves of pleasure through her body and made thinking near impossible.

Hermione's eyes, bright with tears, turned upwards to meet Minerva's.

'Leaving behind the woman that I love with all my heart would have _destroyed _me.'

The last words were barely a whisper but rang with a truth that pierced the Scottish witch to her core. The sentence bared her former student's soul to her. There was no mistaking the sincerity.

'Hermione, I…'

She tried to find words and failed miserably. Logic had abandoned her, fled in the face of such intense feeling. The younger woman leant closer to Minerva, one hand on her cheek. After searching the witch's dark eyes with her own, Hermione closed the distance and placed the lightest of kisses on the outside corner of Minerva's mouth, never actually touching the woman's lips.

Awaiting her mentor's response with dread.

Anticipating the inevitable rejection.

Preparing to break the contact and rush away, crying bitterly at her own stupidity for having ever taken such a risk and ruining it all in the process.

It was on the third heartbeat that the dark haired woman tilted her head slightly to the left to softly meet Hermione's lips with her own, swan-like neck arching gracefully downwards.

A kiss. Hesitant, trembling, but very real.

A flood of emotion came crashing down on Hermione's being, engulfing her in a wave of desire and feelings. Sheer and utter relief. A desperation that had been there for years finally fulfilled. Indescribable and overwhelming _love_.

'_Minerva?'_

The whisper of her own name from her protégé's lips sent a shiver down the witch's spine. Minerva lightly rested her fingers on Hermione's neck and ran her other hand down the woman's torso, stopping once it reached a hip. It was fascinating to feel the effects of even a light touch on the younger woman's body, a body that shuddered at each new stroke. Bowing her head down, Minerva brushed her lips across the warmth of Hermione's bare shoulder and breathed,

'I …I shouldn't be…'

She was silenced as her former student's lips met her own again in a contact that was stronger than before, the kiss filled with a growing intensity. Minerva felt a finger being brushed slowly across her jaw, tracing the smooth angle of bone. Her own hands drifted down of their own accord, gently supporting Hermione's waist as she leant closer into the embrace that they seemed to have settled in.

'_Please.'_

A heartfelt pleading escaped the younger witch's mouth, rawness evident in a single word. Minerva cradled Hermione's cheek with her right hand, lifting her former student's head upwards before softly touching her parted lips to the younger woman's neck. Hermione gave an involuntarily gasp when she felt the petal-soft brush of kisses along her throat, arching her back involuntarily. The sheer sensitivity of the touch was overwhelming and her heart was racing a million miles a minute. The blood was, accordingly, surging through her cranium, leaving little room for consciousness. Hermione was beginning to feel light-headed, a fog drifting across her fading vision. Sensing her distress, Minerva ran her hand down Hermione's side to calm her, petting her protégé's lower back in slow circles to relieve the tension that had bound her slender body into rigidity. Hermione began to relax after a few moments, releasing the strained muscles that had held her inert. The dizziness gradually faded away and Hermione leant forwards to rest on the older woman's slim frame, drawing strength from it. She had never experienced anything as tender as this.

'May I?' Minerva whispered, shifting her hand slightly to rest on a part of the younger woman's anatomy that was presently covered by her silk gown.

Hermione's eyes told Minerva all she needed to know. The dark-haired woman slowly slipped the nearest strap from Hermione's pale shoulder and slid away the young woman's silk top from her body. Minerva brought her right hand up to the bared chest and began to softly massage the curves there with her long fingers. A soft sigh escaped the brunette's throat and she leaned into the older woman's touch, running her hands through Minerva's long ebony hair that had somehow become unbound. Hermione touched her lips to Minerva's forehead, brushing away several dark stands that had drifted onto her brow with a thumb.

Returning to her protégé's neck, Minerva slowly worked her way down to Hermione's collarbone, brushing her lips lightly in the shallow central indentation. Her fingertips whispered across the younger woman's ribs, dancing along the warm skin, trailing paths of coolness behind each stroke. Gentle exploration of touch, never rushed.

It was magic in a physical form.

'_Divine_,' Hermione murmured under her breath.

Moistened lips trailing to her breast bone made her close her eyes reflexively. A warm flush that had begun at her face had spread to the space between her legs. Cool hands skimming the flesh with each sensual stroke only increased the glow.

Their eyes met again.

_Deeper?_

A silent acknowledgement of trust.

A hand slipped down below Hermione's navel and slowly began to move in shallow circles. The young witch gasped, arching her neck and spine as this new feeling coursed through her body, each fresh touch sending sensations of pleasure. Wrapping her arms around Minerva's shoulder blades, she pulled herself closer to the woman, breathing in the wonderful scent of the now un-bound hair.

The moment came .

'_Oh Gods.'_

This had come out as a half-muttered beatific moan. Minerva kissed the young woman's warm skin and kneaded Hermione's back with her free hand, settling the tremors that held her body in its arched state.

'_Hush.'_

Tears of joy were falling down Hermione's cheeks and soaking the white sheets around them. She gazed, entranced, into the face of her former teacher, outlined by the faint light of the starry sky in the window. Long strands of dark silk fell free over the taller woman's pale shoulders. The former Transfigurations professor had never looked more beautiful.

'I love you.'

An angelic face lowered until it was only inches away from her own. The glorious eyes, so different from that of the stern Hogwarts professor or war-weary Order of the Phoenix member, gazed tenderly down at her.

'And I love you with all that I am and possess, Hermione.'

A chaste kiss joined them for a few heartbeats before Minerva slowly rolled to one side of the covers and Hermione rose up to kneel beside her. Gently resting her index finger on the woman's pulse point, she slowly dragged it down until it was at Minerva's clavicle.

'Lets see how well your teaching skills work on this matter.'

The answer was barely a whisper through the air, reverberating in Minerva's throat as a quiet rumble that Hermione could feel with her fingers resting where they were.

'I have no doubts that you'll be a quick learner.'

* * *

The morning sun made her squint, and she covered her face with a hand to block out the brightness that was invaded her sleep with malicious intent.

Her arm was wrapped around a gently moving surface that was warm and soft, and a generalized feeling of contentedness eased through her as she nestled a little closer, soaking in the wonderful sensation of closeness. Several long strands of almost black hair lay across her chest, resting lightly on the bare skin.

The young woman shifted slightly on her pillow so that she could look at the dark haired witch without straining her neck.

'_Good morning.'_

Mocha coloured eyes, illuminated by the sunlight, were gazing up at her.

'Good morning to you.' Hermione replied with a smile. 'I'm off to make breakfast.'

The eyes narrowed

'Dear God in Heaven, anything but that. I love you more than anything, Hermione, but _I'll _take care of food for now.'

This statement was immediately followed by a long kiss took out any sting that that sentence may have held.

* * *

It was afternoon.

'Hermione?'

'Mmm?'

'Any particular reason that you've been staring at yourself in the mirror for the past ten minutes?'

She received no response. Hermione continued to examine her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye, frowning slightly as she turned her head slightly from side to side.

_Hadn't it been more to the left before?_

'I do wish you'd stop worrying about it,' called an exasperated voice from the direction of the only chesterfield in the room. 'It's perfectly straight, please trust me on it.'

The younger woman didn't budge from her spot in front of the mirror.

'Are you quite sure that it isn't bent to the right slightly?'

A pause.

'My right or your right?'

Hermione suspended her self-examination to glare at her mentor's reflection. Minerva's voice had held just a touch of sarcasm, an emotion which she had perfected to razor sharpness during her time at Hogwarts.

'Let me take a closer look.'

Minerva strode across the floor in her characteristic flowing movement, elegant bearing evident even when she was in her own home. Leaning closer to her concerned pupil, she turned a critical eye to Hermione's nose, searching for any unusual healing patterns through delicately probing with her fingers.

Hermione allowed herself a quick glance at her mentor. The top buttons of Minerva's white blouse had come undone, exposing her pale throat and upper chest to the warmth of the room. The loose attire made the witch look remarkably relaxed.

'You needn't be afraid of looking at me, you know,' Minerva said softly. Her tapered fingers had strayed from their examination of her patient's nose to instead caress Hermione's cheek, gently brushing the skin with a tenderness that few would have believed her capable of.

The young woman blushed.

'It's an old habit,' she muttered, glancing out the nearby window and away from the object of her attention. 'I used to force myself to not look at you during class, just so you wouldn't notice.'

Another stroke on her cheek.

'Time to break it then.'

Minerva pulled Hermione over to the couch and, after sitting down, motioned the younger woman to sit beside her. Hermione slowly lowered herself to the cushions only to feel a slim hand press her sideways, pushing her body down further to finally lie full-length on the chesterfield, her head resting in Minerva's lap. The hand moved upwards to slowly stroke Hermione's hair, gently running fingers through the thick strands. The younger woman bent her head to the side to allow Minerva's touch, closing her eyes and drinking in the rhythmic motion. Long fingers drifted down to slide through the soft hairs at the base of Hermione's neck, prompting a smile and slight laugh from the brunette.

'It tickles.'

'Shall I stop?'

'Never.' Hermione smiled and shifted her position to gaze up at her former teacher.

'You'll eventually get tired of my questions, won't you?'

'Nonsense, I find you infinitely fascinating.' The woman's dark eyes were soft. An overwhelming feeling of…_love_…for this young woman had finally been allowed to surface in her heart and had made it clear that it would never leave. It had been there, hidden from her, for years she realized.

With Minerva massaging the back of her neck with tender fingers, Hermione closed her eyes in contentment and let silence take over. Long body pressed against her own, one slim arm draped over her waist, she could lie here forever and never be in want of anything.

They both drifted off in the afternoon warmth and awoke several hours later, both regretful of their choice of resting place.

'I solemnly swear _never_ to nap in a chair or on other any other non-bed-like furniture again. Of all the silly things…'

Minerva swore softly and rubbed the back of her neck with a hand, wincing in pain. Hermione watched her in mild amusement.

'It's no wonder you have neck problems – you wear your hair up for sixteen hours a day. It is _wonderful_ hair.'

The older woman directed her piercing gaze towards her former pupil.

'Can you imagine what the sight of me with it down would _do_ to my students?'

'I'll hazard a guess at mass hysteria.'

'Precisely. The hair stays up.'

The younger woman wasn't going to give up so easily.

'Might I remind you that we are not at Hogwarts at this present time?'

'I'd prefer that you wouldn't.'

Hermione smiled and moved her palms to Minerva's strained neck.

'I suppose I'll just have to persuade you through other means.'

Working her hands through the tight collar of the Transfiguration professor's blouse, she was greeted by a set of very taught muscles.

'You're tense. Relax.'

Minerva mentally forced her muscles to loosen. A few minutes of comfortable silence went by before she spoke.

'When did you first know that you cared about me?'

Hermione didn't answer for a minute, kneading Minerva's shoulders while she thought.

'I'd have to say that it was when I was seventeen,' she said finally, 'after the funeral. Harry, Ron and I had just agreed that we wouldn't be returning after the summer and I came up to your office to talk to you about it, or more, should I say, to have you comfort me. You were still in your dress robes and had let your hair down.'

The older woman twisted her long neck around to look at Hermione in surprise.

'You feel in love with me when you saw me crying my eyes out behind my desk?'

Hermione tilted her head to one side and regarded Minerva intently.

'It was the first time that I'd ever seen you cry. You seemed so much more fragile than you normally were, so much more human, more approachable.' Hermione sat back down beside Minerva on the chesterfield. 'Goodness knows we'd certainly had a…dynamic…before that – I'd been teased about it by the rest of the school for several years. I think that I finally came to terms with the fact that I cared for you more than I'd admitted. Before that I'd simply told myself that I idolized you; it was the easiest explanation for my feelings.' The woman shot her former teacher a quick smile. 'There had been moments before that though, I'm sure that you remember them.'

Minerva winced.

'Oh Gods. The private dancing lessons before the Yule Ball.'

'Yes, I kept on trying to lead,' Hermione laughed ruefully at the memory, playing idly with a curling lock of hair. 'I never really got the hang of waltzing, even after a month of lessons with you. I just couldn't concentrate when you were that close.'

It had been difficult. She'd been fourteen years old and had fled to her Head of House only an hour after she'd accepted Victor Krum's invitation to the ball. It had suddenly hit her that she had absolutely no idea how to waltz and was pretty sure that books wouldn't be able to help her learn how. Four weeks under Minerva's experienced tutelage had made her a passable partner for Krum, but she'd never possessed the innate grace that Minerva comported herself with.

'And we can't forget that time where we spent a whole night during the sixth year arguing about Pandori's _Transformatter and Fabricus_ temporal research – which by the way, I still disagree with on several points. It was so late that you made me sleep in your bed while you changed to your animagi form and slept on one of the pillows,' Hermione smiled to herself. 'In the morning I woke up to find you lying next to me; you'd lost your grip on the transformation during the night. I lay there for almost an hour, just watching you sleep. It was so close then…I almost told you how I felt but couldn't at the last moment. I feared that you would reject me if I did and I'd lose you forever.'

At this, Hermione reached up to caress the dark-haired woman's cheek.

'It would have destroyed me.'

Minerva went silent as she absently ran her fingers through Hermione's hair.

'I've lost so many in this war…family…friends…students on both sides,' she mused to herself. 'I suppose I'd lost a part of myself too.'

The younger woman slid her hands down Minerva's upper arms.

'And you have always been strong and never faltered…not once.'

Minerva slowly looked back up at Hermione and the brunette felt a pang once their gaze locked. Those expressive eyes held a world of pain and loss. Of recent tragedy.

'I don't know what I'd do without you,' she said quietly. 'Please promise me you won't risk your life like that again.'

Minerva shook her head with a wry smile.

'You know I can't do that anymore than _you_ can. We're Gryffindors, Hermione; it's in our nature to be pre-disposed to self-sacrifice, however silly the reasons may be.

'That isn't very reassuring.'

'I can promise you one thing, though.' Minerva continued softly, pushing back a lock of curling hair from the brunette's temple with one of her long fingers. Hermione looked up at her, not looking quite sure as if to expect a good or bad answer.

'I will love you until the end of our days, and I predict _those_ to be very long indeed.'

Bright tears slowly filled Hermione's eyes, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Unable to stand it, Minerva cupped the young woman's cheeks in her hands and touched her lips to Hermione's brow.

'Let's go argue with the oven,' she said with one of her rare smiles. 'I think you're ready to tackle dessert-making, now.'

Hermione let out a stifled laugh through her tears and wrapped her arms around Minerva's slim shoulders, burying her head into the woman's neck. The older witch closed her eyes also, gently rocking her protégé back and forth in her embrace. It was odd that only a week ago the world had seemed so bleak and now was as close to heaven as she had ever know it to be.

_The End_

* * *

_I loved writing this piece, more than anything else I've ever written. It's also been my longest piece, even though I've written Anthropology essays that _seemed_ longer. On the downside, this is the end of this fic…_

_I do have a billion more 'shorts' that I'm going to try and assemble into another semi-long story like this. And I have a half-complete medium length that needs finishing. And many more ideas. What I need you to do is comment with WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE in these stories. Just a few short lines (or a paragraph for the perfectionists!) in the review box. I enjoy reading what readers have to say about my work, and feedback will improve my performance: it certainly did in this one._

_As far as I can tell, I could count the number of Minerva/Hermione fans on my two hands with a few fingers to spare. I would LOVE to be able to include my toes. If you haven't been reviewing, just do it this once so that I know that we do have a larger fan base than, say, Percy Weasley/Giant Squid. _

_Minerva and Hermione are such a controversial ship, (same-sex, age-difference of 65 or so, student/teacher, etc) it's near impossible to find stories of them on the web (must to our collective disappointment). Please, for all the writers or budding writers (or artists, if there are any out there that can draw a semi-straight line without injuring yourself – God knows I can't!) out there, spend a night or two and compose a quick (or long, for the already-mentioned perfectionists) composition involving the two. The rest of us NEED you too! And we promise to encourage you in your endeavor with a multitude of reviews!_

_Because we've all fallen hopelessly in love with our female teachers too…_


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